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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 




Shelf Wi5S 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 






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Sprigs of A-gasia, 



by s 



SAMUEL ADAMS WIGGIN, 

WASHINGTON, D. C. 






PRINTED BY 

WM. K. WRIGHT, 

ELKTON, MD. 






COPYRIGHTED, 

1885, 

l!Y S. A. WIGGIN 



GEN. WILLIAM W. DUDLEY, 



U. S. COMMISSIONER OF PENSIONS, 



A BRAVE AND GALLANT SOLDIER OF FREEDOM, 



AND THE AUTHOR'S TRUE FRIEND, 



THIS BOOK 



IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED. 



UNITED STATES PENSION OFFICE, 
WASHINGTON, D C, . 

August 16th, 1884. 

SAMUEL ADAMS WrGGIN, Esq., 

So. Div.-Dear Sir: 
I have your Ivind note of trie 13th inst. I note 
your request that I permit the use of my name in 
trie dedication of your hoolc, and take pleasure in 
acceding to it, and hope for you every success in 
your undertaking. 

Very truly yours, 

W. W. DUDLEY. 






PREFACE 



The author was born at Portsmouth, N. H., May 
27, 1832, of old New England stock, his father's 
ancestor being one of the first settlers of Dover, N. H., 
and an Indian fighter, Captain of the fort on Garrison 
Hill. 

Samuel P. Wiggin, the author's father, was a local 
preacher for nearly forty years, of the M. E. Church 
in Portsmouth, and one of the original founders of 
the church in that place; and was, also, for several 
terms, an Overseer of the Poor, and a Selectman, and 
served several terms as a Representative in the New 
Hampshire Legislature. 

His mother, Eliza Wendell, belonged to one of 
the oldest families in Portsmouth, N. H. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes and the late Wendell 
Phillips descended from the same ancestor, originally 
from Albany, N. Y., one of the first settlers of that 
ancient town. 

A brother of the poet's grandfather Wendell 
married Jane Whittier, of Philadelphia, an aunt of the 
good, gray poet, John G. Whittier. 



The poetic genius of the author was not developed 
until thirty years of age; and his first poems appeared 
in The Portsmouth (N. H) Journal, in 1861, at the 
breaking out of the Rebellion. He enlisted in 1862 
in the 32d Massachusetts Volunteers; was sent to the 
front, and served until ordered for clerical duty in the 
office of Major-Gen. H. W. Halleck, then commanding 
the Armies of the United States, who finally dis- 
charged him from the Army, on account of his 
disability for field service. 

In 1863, he re enlisted in the Veteran Reserve 
Corps in Boston, and returned to the Army, and was 
put on duty at Washington as Clerk in the Quarter- 
master-General's office, under Gen. M. C. Meigs. 

When Vice-President Andrew Johnson became 
President at the death of President Lincoln, the 
author was appointed Executive Clerk by President 
Johnson, and remained as such in the White House 
during Mr. Johnson's administration. For three 
months the author was retained in office by President 
Grant, and then generously and nobly appointed by 
him a clerk in the Treasury Department, where he 
continued during the eight years of that Adminis- 
tration. 

In 1882, the author was appointed, at the request 
of Hon. S. Z.- Bowman, M. C, of Boston, Mass., a 
clerk in the Pension Office, in Washington, where he 
he is still retained. 

A large number of the poems contained in this 
book were composed in the " Poet's Corner " of the 



White House, over the East Room, in the clerical office 
of the President, and were published from time to time 
in several of the Washington papers, Zioris Herald, 
of Boston, N. Y. Christian Advocate, Portsmouth (N. H) 
Journal, and others. 

In submitting his work of a life time to the public, 
the author would say he received his education partly 
at the High School in Portsmouth, N. H., and was 
also for four years a schoolmate of Thomas Bailey 
Aldrich, Ed. Atlantic Monthly, in the classical school 
of S. M. DeMeritt, and is closely connected by mar- 
riage with that brilliant author, whose grandfather's 
brother was an uncle of the author. 

Several of the poems may be found in the Book 
of Poets of Portsmouth, numbering forty authors, 
published several years ago. 

That his book may cheer and comfort some, and 
prove a blessing, humble though its source, to others, 
is the heartfelt prayer of 

The Author. 



I 



•K5»f^' 




f 



INDEX. 



I 

An Invocation to the Flag, 


'age. 

5 


A Matin Hymn, 


Page. 
154 


Ave Maria, 


ii 


A Song of the Night, 


155 


Ada, 


25 


A Christmas Gloria, 


157 


Ave Jesu— A Christmas Gloria, 


41 


Ave Jesu, 


l6l 


A Christmas Carol, 


44 


A Little Child Shall Lead 




An Evangel, 


49 


Them. 


162 


Aunt Sally — A Song in the 




Ada, 


177 


Night, 


54 


Arida Ossa, 


180 


Alice Maude, 


68 


A Revelation, 


182 


A La Mode, 


77 


A New Year's Evangel, 


197 


Alice, 


H3 


A Mystery, 


214 


Alone, 


118 


A Loving Heart's Lament, 


235 


A Dream of Love, 


123 


A Wedding Gift, 


249 


A La Bismarck, 


128 


An Invocation, 


256 


An Easter Psalm of Life, 


133 


A Psalm of Peace, 


270 


At the vSea Shore, 


148 


Ah Lee, 
3. 


284 


Babie Maude, 


23 


Bertha's Bridal, 


195 


Beauty for Ashes, 


26 


Baby Bessie, 


202 


By the Sea, 


76 


Bread of Heaven, 


229 


Babie, 


83 


Brother, 


238 


Burial of Captain Hall of the 




Brother Lenny, 


244 


Polaris, 


88 


Ben Blue Eye, 


274 


Behind the Bars, 


143 

c 


^ 




Chanty, 


38 


Christ, the High Tower, 


165 


Charles Sumner, 


50 


Cherry Blossom, 


I99 


Centennial Poem. 


57 


Centennial, 


231 


Cosette, 


100 


Christus Consolator, 


241 


Consolation, 


114 


Christus Felicitator, 


275 





INDEX. 








IJ. 




Dinah, 




12 


Darwin, 


245 


Dolly Varden, 




62 


Delvene, 


254 


Death, 




134 


Dedication Poem, 


282 


Daisy, 




I 5 6 










K. 




Easter Gloria in Excelsis, 


42 


Evermore, 


104 


Every Cloud Hath a 


Silvery 




Easter Morn, 


131 


Lining, 




61 


Easter Lilies, 


159 


Emmanuel — The Star of Beth- 




Easter Hymn, 


194 


lehem, 




98 


Ecce Homo, 


248 






K. 




Fantine, 




43 


Faust and Mephistopheles, 


139 


Fide et Amore, 




53 


Faith, 


171 


Faith, 




73 










a. 




Glenwood, 




70 [ God's Poor, 


213 


Heart's Delight, 




27 


Home Again, 


227 


He Giveth His Beloved 


Sleep, 


108 


Home, 


253 


Hit— To Dr. Mary, 




109 


High Mass at St. Augustine's, 


264 


Hope, 




170 


Home, 


290 


Hope's Retreat, 




188 










I. 




Invocation to the Flag, 




5 


Immortality, 


174 


Immortality, 




121 


Idols, 


176 


In His Bosom, 




151 


Immanuel, 


242 






Iv. 




Last Words of Gen. Stonewall 




Light, 


21 


Jackson, 




6 


Lovest Thou Me, 


37 


Little Saidee — An Evar 


gel, 


9 


Lottie, 


47 


La Petite Blonde, 




19 


La Petite Fille, 


67 





INDEX. 






Page. | 


Page. 


La Nymph du Pave. 


9 6 


1 .ongfellow's New Psalm 


of 


Little Brownie, 


138 


Life, 


232 


Lent, 


168 


1 ,ina, 


234 


La Fille de Joie 


200 


Little May Linnean, 


239 


Little Boy Ben, 


209 


Little Pitcher, 


259 


Liberty, 


225 


La Bal Masque, 


265 






Little Buttercup, 

• 


277 




M. 




Magdalen, 


I 3 


Mount Auburn, 


206 


Memorial Service, 


90 


Moonlight on the Sea, 


228 


Mon Cher Ami, 


116 








N. 




Neighbor Annie, 


147 1 Nobody's Child, 
O. 


210 


Out of the Depths, 


191 | 




Prayer, 


18 


Pauper Nancy, 


I05 


Perfect Love, 


36 


Peace and Love, 


117 


Prisoner's Chorus, 


58 


Past and Future, 


122 


Pass On, 


69 








R 




Reconciliation, 


30 


Resignation, 


94 


Rest, 


40 


Rachel, 


25$ 


Radicalism, 


74 








s. 




Sister Tilly, 


22 


Slavery's Chain, 


74 


Scene at Fort Washington, 


28 


Song of the Sleigh-Bells, 


146 


September Dew Drops, 


55 


Sister Annie, 


164 


Saidee, 


60 


Saidee, 


169 


September Dew Drops, 


64 







1 


NDEX . 






T. 






Page. 




Page. 


The Bird's Sermon, 


IO 


The New Birth, 


I30 


The Witness of the Spirit, 


15 


Ths Minister's Daughter, 


142 


The Voyage of Life, 


17 


The New Dispensation, 


I49 


The Rumseller's Dream, 


33 


The Happy New Year, 


152 


The Last Battle, 


36 


That Kittery Boy, 


153 


The Blessing of Him who wat 




The Death of Emerson, 


I 5 8 


ready to Punish, 


39 


The Christ Child, 


166 


The Peace of God, 


46 


The White Crown, 


172 


The Cross of Christ, 


5i 


The Baby of the Pinafore, 


175 


The Ocean, 


52 


The Mother's Love, 


178 


The Odd Fellow's Orphans, 


56 


The Poet's Crown, 


179 


The Martyr's Crown, 


59 


To the Bride, 


l8l 


The Good Shepherd, 


64 


The Old Homestead, 


184 


The Wooing of the Rose, 


65 


The Belle of the Ball, 


186 


The Preacher's Prayer Meeting 


.71 


Tina Bell, 


189 


Treasures, 


72 


The Prodigal Son, 


I90 


The Wine Cup, 


79 


The Little Mother, 


I96 


Trailing Arbutus, 


80 


The Missing Ship, 


204 


The Widow's Mite, 


82 


The Real Presence, 


215 


The Master, 


86 


The Angel of the Covenant, 


218 


Tina, 


89 


The Blind Mother, 


220 


The Burden Bearer, 


91 


The Yankee Girl, 


222 


The Life Immortal, 


92 


Three Little Midgets, 


223 


'The Clerk with the Empty 




The Little Brook, 


224 


Sleeve, 


93 


The Wife— To Katie, 


237 


The Old Clerk, 


IOI 


The Psalm of Life, 


24O 


The Rum Fiend, 


102 


The Three Graces, 


247 


The White Stone, 


107 


Tabitha Jane, 


250 


The Psalm of Death, 


in 


The Reporter's Christmas, 


251 


Trust in God, 


"5 


The Heavenly Guest, 


260 


The Friend of Sinners, 


119 


The Sweet Singer of Paradise 


26l 


The Rock, 


124 


The Carnival of Authors, 


262 


The Conversion of Candace, 




To Babie May, 


276 


Queen of Ethiopia, 


126 


The March of Company C, 


280 


The Little White Dove, 


129 


The Happy New Year, 


29! 





INDEX. 






u, 




Union Forever, 
Under the Daisies, 


Page. 
2 4 
29 


Uncle Billy, 


Page. 
3i 




V, 




Vespers at St. Aloysius, 
Vespers at All Souls, 


221 1 Via Crucis, Via Lucis, 
226 1 Victory, 

w. 


271 
285 


Woman — To Ruthie, 

Wife, 

Wanted, 

Winchester, 


7 

32 

84 

135 


Wedded Love, 

When Jesus Comes Again, 

What of the Night, 


256 
267 
273 



INVOCATION TO THE FLAG. 



Flag that floateth now triumphant, 

Over all, a people free. 
Flag of beauty, proudly waving 

Over our land from sea to sea. 

Flag of glory, waving softly, 

Like a maiden's rippling hair. 
Flag, we hail thee, all endearing, 

Full of grace and beauty fair. 

Flag with starry orbs, of woman, 

Blushing red and pearly white ; 
Like their loving faces mantling, 

Gazing on their heart's delight. 

Flag of Freedom — sacred symbol 
Of the hopes that make life dear, 

Evermore thy star-eyes radiant, 
Nevermore the falling tear. 

Gazing on thy teeming millions, 
None are bond '! All, all are free ! 

Flag with dear eyes, like a woman's, 
Woman's prayers ascend for thee. 

Flag, Our Flag ! Brave souls marched proudly, 

Loving thee with hearts of gold ; 
Flag, dear Flag, when pale death summons, 

Let thy soft bright arms enfold. 

Sacred flag, all that's holy, 

Truth and grace and hope thou art ; 

Flag whose great soul clasps the lowly, 
Folds them to thy yearning heart. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA, 



Flag of all earth's flags the purest, 
All undimm'd, it floats in air ; 

Flag uncurs'd by bonded woman, 
Pure as holy thoughts in prayer. 

Flag ! O Flag ! we swear to keep thee, 
Free, as now, from shame or wrong, 

Flag ! Our Flag ! All hearts adoring, 
Sing to thee their loving song. 



LAST WORDS OF GENERAL STONEWALL 
JACKSON. 

Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees. 



Upon his weary couch of pain he lay, 
The hero of a hundred fields of strife, 

And as his pulse gently ebbed away 

He turned his vision toward the better life. 

He sees the beauteous waving trees of heaven, 
The clear, bright river and the flowery mead ; 

His earthly ties fast one by one are riven, 
Trusting in God for all his spirit's need. 

" Let us cross the river and rest beneath 

Those trees of life with cool and fragrant shade, 

There, there is peace unruffled by a breath, 
There's heaven for me in that sweet everglade. 

" No war or deadly strife across that stream, 

No brother's fraticidal battle-field ; 
There underneath those trees the white robes gleam, 

And fruits of love and joy their branches yield. 

" Come, comrades, let us cross this silver tide ; 
'Tis neither cold nor deep for you and me ; 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



And safely landed on the other side, 

There's light and joy through all eternity. 

"There's crowns and garments pure and spotless white, 
And palms of victory for the soldier there ; 

No night or gloom, but rest and glad delight, 
All undisturbed by sorrow, pain, or care. 

" There all the brave and true together meet, 
Just over there beyond the little stream; 

I see the pavement of the heavenly street, 
It shineth with a burnished golden gleam. 

•' There's mansions beautiful and brightly fair; 

Yes, yes, there's one for you and I, sweet wife, 
Wipe off thy anguished tears — I see them there, 

The homes our heavenly captain did prepare." 

And so he crossed the peaceful stream of death, 
And rests beneath the vernal trees of life ; 

Resteth in peace beyond the blighting breath 
Of cruel war and scenes of deadly strife. 

The blue and gray clasp hands together there, 

The clear vision of unclouded skies ; 
White robed, white souled, all spotless fair, 

They bear the conqueror's palm, the heavenly prize. 



WOMAN— TO " RUTHIE.' 

Who, in this weary toil and strife, 
Yearns not for gentle woman's love, 

That, in the sad dark hours of life, 
Uplifts the soul to joys above ! 

' Tis not in wondrous beauty rare, 
A witching form or skin of snow ; 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



Not in the waves of jetty hair 

That o'er her matchless shoulders flow. 

It lurks not in the dark eye's flash, 
The red — red lips that smile on me ; 

Nor in the jeweled finger's dash 
Of golden light o'er ivory key. 

' Tis not in folds of bright array, 

Pure white brows crowned with gems and gold ; 
Rich silken robes that half display, 

And half conceal her charms untold. 

Not in the rippling, laughing voice, 

That wins the ear and soothes our pain ; 

Not in her joy, when we rejoice, 
Nor tears in sorrow's sad refrain. 

No charm alone, but all we love, 

Entrancing smile and form of grace ; 

Her twinkling tiny feet that rove, 
The loving light her eyes embrace. 

All that is lovely, good, and pure — 
All things that charm the soul away ; 

All that the hearts of men allure, 
Are found within thy queenly sway. 

We love thee as we love the flowers — 
We love thee for our mother's sake ; 

We love thee as we love the showers 
White lillies lift their bells to take. 

We love thee, last pure gift of God ; 

He called thee " Woman, best of all," 
E'en when we dwell in heaven's abode, 

True hearts shall bless thy tender thrall. 



SPftiGS OF ACACIA. 



LITTLE SAIDEE.— " AN EVANGEL. 

' Twas night, and in the silent room 

Two anxious watchers stood, 
And gazed thro' mists of anguished tears, 

Knowing that God was good. 

Fainter and fainter grew the breath, 

Dimmer the dark blue eyes, 
Closer the dainty fingers clasp, 

Knowing that God was wise. 

O agony,- that broke the heart, 

With dread and mortal fear ! 
O stranger calm, that fell on all, 

Knowing that God was near ! 

And then her heavenly orbs of peace 

Were fixed on the Unseen, 
And radiant with surprise, delight, 

Without a cloud between. 

She saw the blessed Jesus' face, 

And heard His gentle voice 
Whispering in sweetest tones of love; 

Heard angel bands rejoice. 

She heard Him say : " My little one, 

Come fearlessly to me ; 
I'll bear thee in my tender arms 

Across the sapphire sea. 

" Thou' It see thy little sister there — 

Thy baby-brother, too ; 
Come, then, my lamb, my spotless lamb, 

I'm waiting just for you." 

And hearing all these winning words, 
With joy and glad surprise ; 



lO SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

What wonder, then, the child's delight 
Shone in her great, blue eyes. 

What wonder, then, the dainty head 
Grew bright with rays divine ; 

What wonder, then, with glorious light. 
Her face began to shine. 

Transfigured in the mother's arms, 

Angelic Saidee lay, 
And softy drooped the waxen lids, 

As if the lamb would pray. 

Asleep at last in Jesus' arms, 

Safe home at last above, 
She lives forever near the throne, 

Our little sinless dove. 



THE BIRD'S SERMON. 

This morn I wandered in the wood, 

And asked a wild bird free, 
Where dwells true love, the highest good. 

And he carolled thus to me : 

Love is the sacramental gift, 

Bestowed on all your race ; 
It came from heaven, a snow-white drift, 

Of purest, sweetest grace. 

Love is thy holy Paraclete, 

To comfort and sustain, 
To make thy life with joy replete, 

And Eden bloom again. 

Love is the bar]) of David sweet, 

To calm your wild despair, 
And Jay your soul at Jesus' leet, 

An offering pure and fair. 



Sprigs of Acacia. 



Love is the Holy of Holies' fane 
Where burns the sacred flame 

That frees the heart from every stain 
Of sorrow, guilt, or shame. 

Love is the bearing of the cross, 

His easy yoke to wear. 
Love counts all earthly things but dross, 

So you His crown may wear. 

For Love is God and God is Love, 

In Him is perfect rest. 
Center thy hopes on things above, 

And Love shall fill thy breast. 

Love wings thy flight to realms of light. 

Love opes the gate for thee. 
Love decks in robings spotless white, 

With palms of victory. 

This is the song the wild bird free 

Warbled in tuneful strains. 
My soul was cheered. He loveth me. 

My heart the song retains. 



AVE MARIA 



Ave Maria ! let thy holy eyes 

Turn for one moment from thy little child ; 
We hail thee ! we, the Eastern Magi wise, 

For this glad sight, crossing the desert wild, 
Ave Maria. 

Ave Maria ! see the gifts we bring, 

At thy babe's feet — gold, frankincense, and myrrh, 
Earth's richest treasures, every goodly thing. 

One look of thine we more than these prefer. 
Ave Maria. 



12 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Ave Maria ! bending at thy feet, 

Holy and blessed thou, O mother fair, 

Thou heavenly mystery, pure and sweet, 
Thy loving face, caressed with haloed hair, 
Ave Maria. 

Ave Maria ! thy fond heart's enshrined 
Within that dimpled, human form divine. 

Thou dost not see these burning jewels twined 
With rarest gold of Ophir, from the mine, 
Ave Maria. 

Ave Maria ! ever on thy Son, 

Thy soft, cerulean eyes with rapture dwell. 
Like thee, forevermore on Him alone 

We gaze, while pealing anthems swell — 
Ave Jesu, Ave Jesu. 

Ave Jesu ! we give our heails to thee : 

No gleaming gold, or precious gems of light ; 

Thine altar fires shall burn from sea to sea, 

With incense of the souls thy love made white, 
Ave Jesu, Ave Jesu. 



DINAH. 

Aged, uncomely, and black, 
Nothing but rags for her back, 
Grizzled old wool on her head, 
Nothing but straw for a bed ; 

Eyes that are failing and.dim, 
Uplifted in meekness to Him ; 
Hands that are horny with toil, 
Calloused on slavery's soil. 

Fo m that is shapeless and bent, 
Strength that with labor is \ pent 



SPRIGS OF ACACtA. i3 



Face that is wrinkled wi»h care, 
Arms that are bony and bare. 

Heart that is burdened with love, 
Fresh from the fountains above ; 
Spirit unstained as the snow, 
Or lillies that spotlessly grow. 

Soul of a martyr or saint, 
Free from a blemish or taint ; 
Thoughts, simple, holy and pure, 
Hope that is steadfast and sure. 

What though a slave she was born, 
Her babes from her bosom were torn ; 
Living or dead she knows not, — 
Jesus her freedom hath wrought. 

To Him she continually doth cry, 
" My Lord, in the glad bye and bye, 
Let dese eyes see my lost lambs again, 
In dat land whar's no sorrow and pain. 

Aged, uncomely and black, 
Nothing but rags for her back, 
Crown full of stars for her head, 
Life everlasting when dead. 

All her lost babes in her arms, 
Found in the land of the palms, 
Never, no, never, to part ; — 
Balm for a slave mother's heart. 



MAGDALEN. 



Along the dimly lighted pave 

She slowly crept, 
Close by the valley of the grave, 

Bitterly wept. 



\A SF*RIGS OF ACACIA. 



Thinking of home and blooming youth 

When she was pure, 
Ere first her stainless feet left truth 

For Sin's allure. 

About her aching brows there hung 

Bright sheeny hair, 
Around her drooping figure clung 

A beauty fair. 

Within her eyes sad spirits dwelt 

In night and gloom ; 
Yet, as I gazed, the creature knelt — 

Prayed for the tomb. 

So tired and faint, she craved of God 

Only to die ; 
Her heart was broken 'neath the sod 
She longed to lie. 

She had no hope in life, and death 

Was rest and sleep ; 
Her spirit was a little breath 

That God would keep. 

She prayed that in the last great day 

Her soul might rise, 
With its transfigured mortal clay. 

To Paradise. 

She said, " Dear Christ, I'm all alone ; 

I trust in Thee. 
By love alone I'll win a throne — 

Sweet heaven see. 

" I claim Thy gracious words as mine ;" 

She loved much. 
" Much I forgive, for love divine 

Hath heating touch. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



" Now, Lord, I lay me down to sleep, 

My infant prayer — 
A stone my pillow — safely keep 

From every snare. 

" Forgive my sins, as I forgive 

Him who betrayed." 
The white lips murmured, " I forgive ; : 

No more she said. 

The sad eyes closed, a little sigh — 

The angel came, 
Claimed the crown jewel, cleft the sky 

On wings of flame. 



THE WITNESS OF THE SPIRIT. 

This Sabbath dawn is full of peace, 

The morning-glories' bells 
Are clustering round the window there, 

Afar the chime-song swells. 

Within, I hear the angel say, 

In gentle whisperings sweet, 
" Come, sing a psalm of life to me, 

While sitting at my feet. 

" Sing of Immanuel's loving heart, 

Sing of His tender grace, 
Sing of the rapture of the soul, 

Folded in His embrace. 

" Sing of the joy and restful peace 

The ransomed spirits know ; 
Sing of the time, the happy time, 

He washed thee white as snow. 



16 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



" I'd have thee tell that story o'er 

Of Jesus and His love, 
How the white Christ with mercy free, 

Descended from above. 

" I'd have thee sing the sweetest strain 
The world has ever known, 

The story of the Crucified, 
Who did for sin atone." 

Dear angel of the covenant, 

I'm sitting at thy feet, 
Hearing the murmur of thy voice, 

Thy gentle accents sweet. 

Thy words fall low and tenderly 

Upon my spirit's ear, 
And all my soul rejoicingly 

Exults that thou art near. 

Thou art the Spirit's witness pure 
The dear Christ left on earth, 

For every soul of man that knows 
The new and heavenly birth. 

And so, while sitting at thy feet, 

Thy hand within my own, 
I know, I know, that Jesus lives ; 

My King is on His throne. 

I cannot sing as angels there, 

Who worship and adore, 
But this I know, my Jesus lives 

Forever, evermore. 



Because of thy bright presence here, 
I know He's on His throne : 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 17 

Am I nut sitting at thy feet, 
Thy hand within mine own ? 

And so this peaceful Sabbath morn, 

White Angel of the Dove, 
I hear thy gentle whisperings, 

That tell me of His love. 



THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 

As down the stream of life we glide 
In golden barks on silvery tide, 
Our silken sails are outspread wide 

To catch the gentle gales, 
And song and mirth, and love and light, 
Shed all around their lustre bright ; 
And young hearts filled with glad delight 

While joy her face unveils. 

Why do we pause and trembling think, 
Perchance that we on ruin's brink, 
In golden barks to death may sink 

Beneath the silver tide. 
Why do we in our joy and mirth 
Remember that we are but earth ; 
That all of low or noble birth, 

In death lie side by side. 

O well we know that at the last, 

To which great point we drift so fast, 

That all our hopes on this are cast 

To gain the blessed shore. 
But doubts and fears our hearts assail, 
Turn smiles and joy to sorrow pale. 
Sweet faith, and hope, to comfort fail 

Our spirits evermore. 



18 SPRIGS OF ABACIA. 

Know, at the last, poor weary saint, 
Thy soul shall neither thirst nor faint 
But freed from sin and earthly taint 

Shall upward, upward rise 
To meet thy risen, loving Lord ; 
To hear him say the welcome word ; 
To strike your harp in sweet accord ; 

In God's own paradise. 

In golden barks on silver tide, 
Our happy spirits gently glide, 
With those on earth we loved beside 

Immortal bodies pure. 
While seraph music softly swells, 
Life, love and joy within us dwells ; 
Enraptured hear the chiming bells, 

That all our hopes assure. 



PRAYER. 



On all alike descends the rain — 

On all Thy mercies fall ; 
On flinty rocks it drops in vain, 

Or hearts in sinful thrall. 

The summer rain, on marshy ground, 
Exhales a poisonous breath ; 

Tho' loving blessings shower round, 
Vice yieldeth naught but death. 

The gentle rain, on fruitful soil, 
Revives the drooping flowers ; 

So saddened hearts, that weep and toil. 
Receive the heavenly showers. 

As bending lilies fragrance shed 
Upon the dewy air, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 19 

So the full soul's uncovered heed 
Bows low in grateful prayer ! 

And as their incense to the skies 

Is borne by zephyr gale, 
So prayers on Faith's white pinions rise, 

Enter within the vail. 

The Father hears the poor's sad wail — 

The humble spirit's cry ; 
Fie cheers the drooping mourner pale, 

Bids bright-winged angels fly. 

To lift the heart bowed down with care, 

Turn sorrowing gloom to joy ; 
Revive hope's bending lilies fair, 

Give peace without alloy, 

Dear Lord ! upon this heart of mine, 

Let thy soft rain descend ; 
Illume my soul with love divine — 

Low at Thy feet I bend. 



LA PETITE BLONDE. 

My blonde hath hair all golden, 
Like sunshine on the lea, 

Her eyes are like the ether, 
Or the sapphire of the sea. 

My blonde hath lips of scarlet, 
Her teeth are seeds of pearl ; 

Her laughter's rippling gladness- 
She's a bonny, bonny girl. 

Long lashes droop and tremble 
Above her orbs of light, 



20 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



Or veil their witching lustre, 
Their glory beaming bright. 

With figure like a fairy, 
And curls of golden sheen, 

La petite blonde is lovely 
As an houri, I ween. 

Her high, pale brow in beauty 
Seems fit to wear a crown ; 

Her tender, loving glances 

Have a sweetness all their own. 

Her voice is charming music, 

Her bright eyes dance with glee ; 

Of all the pretty maidens, 
La petite blonde for me. 

Her roseate cheek so lovely, 
Her rounded dimpled chin, 

Her fair white fingers dainty 
Enfolding mine within, 

Thrill all my soul with pleasure, 
And all my heart with love : 

A rare and priceless treasure — 
Her bosom like the dove. 

La petite blonde is charming, 
La petite blonde is sweet, 

I kiss the little footprints 
Of her dainty, fairy feet. 

For she loves me dearly, dearly, 
With an artless joy and pride ; 

And when the rose is blooming 
She will be my blushing bride. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 21 

"LIGHT." 

Watching the drifting gloomy clouds 

That hide the sun's- rays from mine eyes, — 

Looking for some slight rift between 

The low' ring, shuddering, weeping skies ; 

Afar a narrow thread of gold 

Gleams faintly like a glimpse of heaven, 
Vouchsafed to some lost soul engulfed, 

Forever from its glory driven ; 

Mine eyes are dim with joyful tears ; 

To me that golden light is peace. 
Full well I know the clouds will break, 

The storm abate, the cold rain cease. 

One single ray of heavenly light 

Amid this night of grief and pain, 
Shed on my spirit, weak and faint ; 

Life, hope and love revive again. 

O golden gleam ! O sacred light ! 

Within my soul the Dove hath rest ; 
God's olive-branch of peace divine 

Forever vernal in my breast. 

For me the " Bow of Promise " shines ; 

Forevermore I'll trusting wait ; 
Should blackest darkness veil mine eyes — 

He'll lead me to the open gate. 

Dear soul ! by tempest-tossed and driven, 
For thee was shed the precious stream, 

For thee the golden glimpse of heaven, 
The rays that on thy spirit gleam. 

There is a love — I cannot tell 

The heights and depths its arms embrace ; 



22 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



I know that out of sinful night 

'Twill lift thy soul to spotless grace. 

For thee, dear soul, the love untold ; 

Sweet soul, for thee Christ lives again ; 
Great soul immortal, gaze on Him ; 

One look will cleanse from every stain. 

No more the drifting, gloomy clouds — 
God's sunlight bathes thy spirit's eyes. 

White soul, Christ's love I cannot tell, 
But this I know, we shall arise, 

On that glad day when Jesus comes. 

Pure souls washed white from sinful stain 
From out the dreamless sleep of death, 

Singing Redemption's loving strain. 



SISTER TILLY." 



Sister Tilly, you know, is a born Methodist. 
No mistake about that. By the way she is drcst. 
She wears on her head a queer nondescript hat, 
Which is neither a cottage, a scoop, or a flat. 

Her dress is as black as her heavenly face, 
Which shines with the lustre of glory and grace. 
Her voice is as sweet as an angel's on high, 
When she tenderly sings, " In the glad bye and bye. 

Her feet are the feet ot the herald of peace, 
Who bringeth good tidings for souls a release. 
Her heart is as pure as her spirit at rest. 
She leans on the Master — her head on His breast. 

Her eyes are the orbs of the seraphs of light. 
They beam like the stars in the welkin at night ; 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 23 



They shine with the rays of her spotless white soul, 
And a sweet-loving spirit that Jesus made whole. 

Sister Tilly is wise in the lore of the skies, 
But she's simple in all that the mighty ones prize ; 
With a faith that lays hold of the wisdom of God, 
She walks in the pathway her Saviour hath trod. 

He never forsakes her, but close by her side 
There walketh in white her Lord crucified ; 
She is washed in His blood, who is mighty to save ; 
She hath conquered and triumphs ov'r death and the 
grave. 

She is waiting in meekness, her heart full of love 
For the Messenger's coming to waft her above, 
Where the caste of a color is lost in the rays 
That stream from the Throne of the Ancient of 
Davs. 



i( BABIE MAUDE." 

Lovely as a snow drop, 

Pretty as a pink, 
Sparkling little dew drop, 

Babie's sweet, I think. 

Eyes like to the azure 
Of the summer sky, 

Voice of little birdies 
When the Spring is nigh, 

Hands all dimpled, rosy, 
Teeth as white as milk, 

Cheeks just like a posy, 
Hair as soft as silk. 



24 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Fattest baby footies 
Ever you have seen, 

Toes are perfect beauties, 
Soft as satin sheen. 

Laughing all the day long 
With her merry glee, 

Singing charming bird song, 
Busy as a bee. 

Loves her " little budder," 
Pulls his sunny hair, 

Scolds her naughty " mudder, : 
With a saucy air. 

Likes to pull the " fowers " 
All to rags and bits, 

Hates the " funder sowers " 
Screams herself to fits. 

Dainty as a snow-flake 
Dropping from the sky, 

Makes her mania's heart ache. 
With an anxious sigh. 

For to children, dearest, 
Heaven's very nigh, 

And the angel, sweetest, 
Smiling waits close by. 



UNION FOREVER ! 



Fraternally dedicated to the Sons of Veterans of the Grand 
Army of the Republic, by Comrade Samuel Adams Wiggin. 

Hail, youthful comrades brave and strong, 
We give thee greeting in a song ; 






SPRiGS OF ACACIA. 25 

We welcome thee in union bands, 
And greet with love's fraternal hands. 
'Tis thine to keep our memories green, 
Defend the flag of starry sheen. 

Thine is the mission of the free, 
To conquer foes of liberty ; 
True patriots in your country's cause, 
Her rights defend, maintain her laws ; 
Dare to be true to freedom's light, 
Dare to be true in treason's night. 

We crown you with our wreaths of fame, 
We leave to you our loyal name, 
Upon your breasts our mantle falls ; 
So when the voice of freedom calls 
Your ears shall hear the bugle notes — 
Follow the flag where'er it floats. 

We say with tearful joy and pride, 
Sons of heroic souls that died, 
Let no foul stain, no blot of shame, 
Befall the flag, that blood and flame 
Hath purified from slavery's blight — 
Brave comrades, keep its glory bright. 

So wear thy crowns of laurels green, 

Uplift thy flag of starry sheen ; 

Thy country's hope, thy country's pride, 

Grand, noble sons of sires that died 

To save a land for liberty — 

A land where all are glad and free. 



ADA. 

Large lustruous eyes of jetty hue, 
The windows of a pure soul true, 
And in their holy deeps for you 
Love hidden lies. 



26 SPRLGS OF ACACIA. 



Soft rippling waves of raven hair 
Entwine a face of beauty rare, 
And coronal a brow all fair 
With nature's crown. 

Red smiling lips that just disclose, 
The small seed pearls in dainty rows, 
When dimpled laughter gaily flows, 
A winsome strain. 

And then — and then her soft white cheek. 
The roseate charm of angels meek, 
My choicest thoughts are all too weak, 
And language fails. 

There is no other form like thine : 
A sylph, a fairy, all divine; 
Dame Nature made thee just to shine 
In beauty rare. 



"BEAUTY FOR ASHES." 

The days were all hopeless and sad ; 

The nights full of darkness and gloom ; 
Now Jesus hath spoken, I'm glad ; 

The stone He hath rolled from my tomb. 

For the dust of our passions and pride 
We have beauty immortal and fair ; 

For the bands of the soul cast aside, 
The garments of praises we wear. 

For our darkness and burden of night, 
Christ's love, and the cross of his pain, 

His arms, and a song of delight ; 

A heart that is blood-washed from stain. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

For our spirit of wearisome doubt, 
A mantle of meekness and rest ; 

Our silence is changed to a shout ; 
We lean on Immanuel's breast. 

For our tears and our sorrow supreme, 
God's smile and his Ocean of Love ; 

For our sighings and prayers, it doth seem 
That heaven, hath come down from above. 

Our days were all hopeless and sad ; 

Our nights full of anguish and gloom ; 
But Jesus hath spoken, we're glad : 

The stone He hath rolled from the tomb. 

The hearts that were heavy and sore, 

The spirits so full of unrest, 
Are weary and fainting no more. 

He has entered — the heavenly Guest. 

The beautiful garments they wear, 

Washed whiter than snow in His blood. 

(), the heavenly palms that they bear, 
Who are cleansed in the crimson flood. 



"HEART'S DELIGHT." 

TO LOTTIE ALICE .MAUD. 

Violet eyes, gold-tinted hair, 
" Heart's delight " is wondrous fair 
Seraphs watch with loving care 
Little Heart's Delight. 

Dimples play at " hide and seek " 
On her downy velvet cheek, 
Spotless as the lily meek — 
In its robe of white. 



28 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



Red lips tender, smiling glow, 
Hear the bird-like music flow : . 
"Papa's turning, babie go, 

Baby, Heart's Delight." 

Bless the little dainty feet, 
Pattering joyous measures sweet, 
Love and beauty blending meet 
Crowning Heart's Delight. 

Can't you see dear " Heart's- Delight, 
With her violet orbs so bright, 
Shining 'neath her brow of white, 
And her rippling hair ? 

If you can you'll quite agree 
She's a cherub fair to see, 
Full of grace and poesie, 

Pretty Heart's Delight. 



SCENE AT FORT WASHINGTON. 



On Sunday, May 26th, Rev. Mr. Humphriss, of the Stale Street 
Methodist Episcopal Church, delivered a discourse at the Port, 
Portsmouth Harbor, N. H., from Exodus xiv, 15 — " Go for- 
ward." 



At the cannon's side on those battlements grand, 
The soldier of Christ had taken his stand, 
To speak words of comfort to the Volunteers brave, 
Who had left home and friends their dear country to 
save. 

I saw that young pastor with spirit-like brow, 

His eye flashing bright with a heavenly glow, 

His form as erect as the stateliest there, 

While the breeze lifted lightly the brown locks of hair. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 20 



"Go forward," his watchword ; "go forward," his cry; 
" Go forward," true freemen, to conquer or die; 
Fight nobly and well for our own beloved land — 
Trust in God, who will nerve you and strengthen your 
hand. 

You're fighting for Freedom, you're fighting for Life ! 
Charge home on the Rebels, 'tis war to the knife; 
Lift high o'er your heads our flag floating free, 
Or its folds enrapt round you, your winding sheet be. 

" Go forward," and God bless the brave Volunteer ! 
Take with you these sweet words of comfort and cheer ; 
Bright angels of glory are all round your way — 
To shield and protect in the battle's array. 

Volunteer in the ranks of Immanuel to-day, 
King Jesus our Captain, who knows all the way ; 
Sweet peace you shall have 'midst War's rude alarms, 
And dying in battle, shall fall in His arms. 

His voice shall then whisper sweet words to thy heart : 
I alway am with you, Til ne'er from you part; 
Rest in peace, weary heart, the battle is won, 
And the victory gained — faithful soldier, well done ! 

The minister folded his hands as in prayer, 
And craved from his " Father " a benison rare 
To rest on the heads of the Volunteers brave 
Who had left home and friends their dear country to 
save. 



UNDER THE DAISIES. 

Under the daisies our darling sleeps, 
Tears on the flowerets the mother weeps, 
Out of the heart's profoundest deeps, 
Sad, sorrowful, sorrowful tears. 



30 SPRIGS OF ABAC1A. 

On her tender bosom the daisies rest, 
The blossoms the little one loved the best, 
Close in the dainty fingers pressed, 
Enshrined in her amber hair. 

Where the daisies blossom, her body lies, 
Her soul hath ascended to lovelier skies, 
Spotless her spirit that heavenward flies. 
Of such is the kingdom of Love. 

Do you think we shall find the baby there, 
May we kiss the sheen of her golden hair, 
Do you think we shall know the darling fair. 
All radiant with beauty and light ? 

Do you think 'tis true we may meet again, 
With never a tear or a sad refrain ? 
Think you we'll seek and seek in vain, 
Is it true we shall find her there? ' 

Ah, yes ; we know in the beautiful land 
The darling yet lives with a glorious band, 
Who evermore walk on the golden strand, 
By the river of life and peace. 

We know if we. knock at the gate of pearl, 
She will lift the latch — our little girl, 
With the daisy sheen and the amber curl. 
And the violet eyes of heaven. 



RECONCILIATION. 



The sun is going down, old friend, 

The sun is goiug down ; 
Thy heart is full of sighs, my friend. 

The day is well nigh flown. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 31 



The sun is almost down, dear friend, 
Drive out thy cherished wrath ; 

Go to thy brother sad, my friend, 
The cloud is o'er his path. 

The sun is almost down, old friend, 
Thy brother waits for thee, 

His loving heart is yearning, friend, 
With tender sympathy. 

The sun is almost down, my friend ; 

Ere sinks he to his rest, 
Let thy true soul go out, old friend, 

To him who loves thee best. 

The sun is going fast, dear friend, 
A hand enclasps thine own ; 

The sun has gone at last, my friend, 
Love sitteth on his throne. 



UNCLE BILLY." 



His hair is as white as the drifted snow ; 

'Tis a silver crown for kingly brow ; 
His eye is as black as the darkest jet, 
Undimmed and bright is its beaming yet. 

He's a simple child in his loving faith, 
Believing each word that the good Book saith ; 

His skin is as black as Egyptian night ; 

But his soul is enfolded in spotless white. 

His hands are as hard as old Pharaoh's heart ; 

But they're clasped in his Saviour's, O, never to part 
His feet are immense, as the sinner men say : 
But they find room enough in the good old way. 



32 SPRIGS OF ACACIA 



He never was handsome, as the silly world goes ; 

But, if handsome were only as handsome does, 
Uncle Billy would shine like the morning star, 
With the glory that streams thro' the gates ajar. 

Some beautiful morn' Christ will tenderly say, 

Well done, good and faithful, from earth come away; 

Thy sorrows and labors forever are o'er; 

Come, child of my Father, and rest evermore. 

I've seen thy sad tears, and thy anguish of heart ; 
I've heard thy strong cries, and we'll nevermore part ; 

Come home, and thy head on my bosom shall rest ; 

Come reign in the paradise sweet of the blest. 

I will deck thy head with a starry gold crown ; 

A mansion in glory's forever thine own ; 

Thy hands shall be filled with the lilies of grace, 
And a halo of beauty illumine thy face. 

Wooly heads and black skins are as precious to me 
As the fairest of mortals that ever was free ; 

And a slave that is washed in the blood of the Lamb 
Is a child of my Father, the mighty I Am. 

One God and one Father rules high over all, 
And He made of one blood both freeman and thrall ; 
And I died on the Cross for the bond and the free : 
O, My arms are wide open, come children to Me. 



WIFE. 

I'm thinking to-night of the hour, sweet wife, 

You plighted your troth to me, 
'Neath the arching elm tree's shade, sweet wife, 

Ever my true love to be. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 33 



I'm thinking to-night of the time, sweet wife, 

Thy hand enfolded in mine, 
For good or for ill, forever, sweet wife, 

We vowed at the altar's shrine. 

I think of the light in thine eves, sweet wife, 

That mirrored thy true heart's love, 
The dark glossy braids of thy hair, sweet wife, 

Encrowning thy brow above. 

I see thee to-night by my side, sweet wife, 

And " babie," with eyes of blue, 
Her soft dimpled cheek 'gainst thine own, sweet wife, 

Loving, and tender, and true. 

And mine eyes grow dim as I gaze, sweet wife, 

While the heart goes out in prayer — 
u Our Father," who gave thee in love, sweet wife, 

Save thee from sorrow and care. 

And when life's sunset arrives, sweet wife, 

And the shades of evening fall, 
May we wake to heavenly joys, sweet wife, 

And dwell with the All-in-All. 



THE RUM-SELLER'S DREAM. 

The rum-seller slept on his downy couch, 

And he dreamed a vision rare ; 
He saw by his pillow a horrible spook, 

With snakes for the locks of his hair. 

Dear friend, said the spook, with an amiable grin, 
I have called to present you my hand ; 

You'll perceive by my courtly high breeding, no doubt, 
I'm Beelzebub, king of the damned. 



34 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



I regard you, my son, as a faithful soul, 

And worthy my love and esteem ; 
And I honor your courage and elegant pluck, 

So much like my courtiers you seem. 

They rejoice at the widow's and orphan's tears ; 

They hate all the good and the pure ; 
And you will destroy many orphans I ween, 

And hundreds of widows I'm sure. 

Do you know, dearest friend, that whisky and rum 

Were invented expressly in hell, 
For the ruin of mortals who drink of its cup ; 

Its the nectar of devils you sell. 

There was Tom, you remember, a very good man, 

A thing I sincerely despise ; 
He partook of your nectar, and where is he now ? 

In the grave of the drunkard he lies. 

And Mollie, his wife, poor thing, do you know ? 

Went mad, and was drowned in the flood, 
And the baby just starved — that's "nothing you know 

'Twas the whisky that works in the blood. 

And then who's to blame if Robert and Joe 

Liked a snifter or so on a lark. 
If they murdered a man for his money, what, then ? 

You sold them the liquor, my spark. 

And I honor your grit, my valuable friend ; 

You're worthy your brothers below. 
I suppose you're aware they're expecting you soon ; 

And you'll not disappoint them, I know. 

What larks you will have in my kingdom of fire, 
There's Tom and his brother, you know, 

And Robert and Joe and a dozen or more 
Will welcome you warmly below. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 05 



Go on ; I approve of your selling the stuff; 

It fills up the caverns of death ; 
And many a soul that was spotlessly pure, 

Are mine by its poisonous breath. 

Do you know in my kingdom there's millions of souls 

I have drowned in the fiery stream ? 
And the most of my subjects are drunkards, my boy ; 

It's a fact, not a vision or dream. 

Well done, good and faithful, thou servant of hell, 

Said the horrible spook, with a grin ; 
Enter into the joy that's prepared for the damned; 

Pinter in, faithful imp, enter in. 

Of course such a loyal and trusty old friend 

Will find a hot corner prepared ; 
And the fiends will rejoice and the demons will dance, 

And you will receive your reward. 

Then the spook's snaky locks just hissed with delight, 

And he rattled his merry old bones, 
While he opened his cavernous mouth of a beast, 

And thundered in horrible tones. 

The rum-seller woke with a terror untold ; 

He woke with a direful scream, 
Convinced that old Beelzebub wasn't a joke, 

And pondered his beautiful dream. 

He knocked in the heads of his barrels of rum ; 

He bursted his bottles of gin ; 
He smashed his decanters of brandy and wine, 

And swore, " A new life I'll begin." 

Take warning, rum-sellers, and stop your career, 

Old Nick, as you see by this dream, 
Hath a tender regard for your valuable souls,— 

Stop selling the fiery stream, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



" PERFECT LOVE." 

Perfect love hath cast out fear, 

Love is liberty ; 
Perfect love is in my heart, 

Boundless as the sea. 

Perfect love is peace divine, 

Filling all the soul. 
With its joy and happiness, 

Jesus gives the whole. 

Perfect love is rest and light, 
Free from clouds of sin. 

Trusting soul; thy risen Lord, 
Waits to enter in. 

Wake to life ; the life of love, 

Perfect, holy, pure, 
Jesus loves thee ; love Him best, 

Endless life secure. 



THE LAST BATTLE. 



Upon his cot the dying soldier lay, 

And face to face the pale dread form of Death ; 
Silent he stood in all his white array, 

Watching with eager eyes the fleeting breath. 

No fear shone in the deep bright orbs of blue, 
To his brave soul no terrors dark and grim ; 

Peace, like a river, full, and pure, and true, 
In all its light and joy had come to him. 

To him no mother came with loving care, 
No gentle sister round his couch of pain ; 

No wife his lonely, weary hours to share, 
From dewy eve till morning came again. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 37 

Lonely, yet not alone, for him the star 

That beamed upon the wond'ring shepherds' sight ; 
His dying gaze had caught its rays from far, 

And in his heart it shone with tender light. 

Soldier he lived, and soldier brave he died, 

Fell at his post with all his armor on ; 
For him the gate of pearls and gold open'd wide ; 

For him the seraphs sang the welcome song. 

On earth his lot was toil, and strife, and pain, 
In Heaven he shines a precious, spotless gem ; 

No more for him the heat of battle plain, 
Crowned with the conquering hero's diadem. 



"LOVEST THOU ME?" 

Lovest thou Me, lovest thou Me ? 
Soul that I died to save, 
Rose from the silent grave, 
Spirit, to Death, a sjave, 
Lovest thou Me ? 

Lovest thou Me ! I loved thee, 
Loved thee first, dearly, soul, 
Left My great throne, soul, 
Freely, to make thee whole. 
Lovest thou Me ? 

Lovest thou Me, who giveth thee, 
Spirit, immortal life ? 
Peace 'mid the billows' strife ; 
Life, soul, eternal life, 
Only love Me ? 

Do I love thee, love tenderly ; 
Love with a pure heart free ; 



38 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Thou whom I cannot see, 
Thou who did first love me, — 
Love I not Thee ? 

Do I love Thee — thou knoweth me,- 
Dost Thou not know it, Lord? 
Since Thou didst speak the word, 
Binding in sweet accord, 
My heart to Thee ? 



CHARITY. 



Inasmuch as ye have fed him, 
Inasmuch as ye have clothed him, 
One of the least of these, My poor, 
Ye shall surely find the Door 
Open wide for thee. 

Feeding him, hast thou not fed Me ? 
Clothing him,- hast thon not clothed Me ? 
Enter in, O soul of pity, 
Enter in the Golden City, 
View the crystal sea. 

Inasmuch as ye have taught him 
How the blood of Jesus bought him, 
Ope'd the spirit vision blind, 
Did the broken-hearted bind — 
Set the captive free. 

Loving him, hast thou not loved Me ? 
Borne My cross of pain upon thee ? 
Enter in, pure soul, to glory, 
Seraphs listen to the story — 
This he did to Me. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 33 

THE BLESSING OF HIM THAT WAS READY 
TO PERISH. 

A NEW YEAR'S BENISON TO J. M. M. G. 

Alone amid his sore distress, 

With no kind helper nigh, 
No friendly hand to cheer and bless, 

No roof but heaven's blue sky. 

It was an hour of sad despair, 

Dark clouds about his head ; 
His burden more than he could bear, 

His heart among the dead. 

" O, God !" he cried, with lifted hands, 

" Is there no help on earth ; 
No strong, fraternal, sacred bands, 

No ties of heavenly birth ?' ' 

Ah, yes ! the lifted, trembling hands, 

The last despairing cry 
Is heard, and quickly by him stands, 

With symbols of the sky, 

A brother with a cross of gold — 

" We conquer by this sign," 
And emblems of the masters bold, 

Of friendship true, divine. 

He lifts the burdened, drooping head, 

He speaks the mystic word, 
Brings back from straying with the dead 

The heart that lately heard 

No sound of kindly tones of love, 

No words of blessed cheer ; 
Pours on his wounds as from above 

The balm of friendship dear. 



40 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Just perishing in want and woe, 

In deadly peril sore, 
The blessings of one heart we know 

Are thine forevermore. 



REST. 

Is there no rest for way-worn feet ? 
Is there no future — peaceful, sweet ? 
Is there no place where dear ones meet ? 
After this mortal life ? 

Is there no ease for hearts that sigh ? 
Is there no home above the sky ? 
Is there no life for souls that die? 

Beyond this world of strife? 

Listening, the zephyrs low reply : 
We can not tell the mystery 
Of death, or life, or judgment nigh ; 
'Tis hidden from our sight. 

We only know, thro' ages past, 
Across death's silent ocean vast, 
Above the winds and stormy blast, 
Jehovah reigns in light. 

There is the rest for weary feet, 
There is the place where loved ones meet, 
There is thy future — peacefnl, sweet ; 
No other do we know. 

There — there is ease for hearts that sigh, 
There is thy home beyond the sky, 
There, where the dear ones never die, 
Where living waters flow. 



SFRIGS OF ACACIA. 4i 



"AVE JESU"— A CHRISTMAS GLORIA. 

The way is wearisome and rough, 

My feet are torn with sharp and cruel thorns, 
Shuddering my spirit cries — it is enough. 

My nights are horrors, cheerless are the morns. 

Ah ! when shall all my burdens drop away, 

When will this journey through the desert end ? 

O will I never reach the gates of day, 

Will not the Master swift deliverance send ? 

Listening my spirit hears a gentle sigh, 

And then these words of grace, dispelling fears, 

Look up, my child ! Behold thy king is nigh, 
And He shall wipe away thy bitter tears, 

Sing psalms of joy and tune thy golden lyre, 
Strike all its tender chords to love supreme, 

Sing with thy soul replete with hallowed fire, 
And let thine eyes with kindling glory beam. 

Behold ! the Star of Bethlehem shines on high. 

Behold ! behold ! thy strong deliverer near. 
Trust, hope, and wait, Immanuel cometh nigh. 

Wait, then, dear soul, without a single fear. 

Let all thy soul-bells peal a glorious chime ; 

Rejoice and be exceeding, yea, exceeding glad ; 
Now is the perfect fullness of the promised time, 

Christ pours the healing balm for spirits sad. 

He smoothes the pathway for thy tender feet ; 

He is the clefted rock in weary lands, 
Beneath whose shadow, calm, and cool, and sweet, 

Thy spirit shelter finds from burning sands. 



42 SFRIGS OF ACACIA. 

EASTER GLORIA IN EXCELCIS. 

Our Christ has risen, joy untold, 
Hath risen from the dead : 

Awake, my soul, thy wings unfold. 
Lift up thy drooping head. 

Our Lord hath risen, weary heart. 

To die — to die no more ; 
Hath burst the chains of hell apart, 

Forever, evermore. 

Our Master hath gone up on high ; 

He lives — He lives for thee ; 
Yet is His Comforter close by ; 

By faith — by faith we see. 

Our Saviour crowned, upon His throne, 
Our King — our King is He ; 

His agony and blood atone, 
He died — He died for thee. 

Doth love the Christ arisen indeed, 
The Christ of pain and woe ? 

Then surely in thy spirit's need, 
Unto Him meekly go. 

He loveth thee, with tender love ; 

He pityth His child : 
Receive the Dove, the heavenly Dove, 

The Holy Spirit mild. 

His voice is whispering sad and low : 
My lamb, no longer roam ; 

I'll lead thee where sweet waters flow ; 
Come, weary soul, come home. 

My fold is broad as heaven's dome, 
The gate stands open wide ; 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 43 



A glorious mansion for thy home, 
For love of thee I died. 

He died that thou might live again — 

Nailed to the awful tree ; 
The tender Paschal Lamb was slain, 

For thee, O soul, for thee. 



" FANTINE." 

(FROM " I.ES MISERABLES.") 

Fantine, her innocent name; 

Fantine, a maiden and fair, 
Lovely, of unspotted fame ; 

Fantine, yet free from the snare. 

Fantine, with eyes of a dove, 
Reflecting the soul of a saint, 

Fantine, to worship and love. 
Sinless and pure without taint. 

Fantine, the poor castaway, 
Mother of sorrow and shame. 

Daughter of mire and clay ; 
Fantine, in nothing but name. 

Mistress of want and despair, 
Sister to hunger and cold, 

Homeless, deserted, a snare ; 
Life all a horror untold. 

Only one innocent tie, 

Only one glimmer of light ; 

Only one star in the sky, 

Shedding its rays in the night. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



Love for her beautiful child : 
Loving, that renders divine 

Souls that are lost and defiled ; 
Love, that we never resign. 

Spark, from the altar of grace, 
Watched by the Spirit Divine, 

Causing at last the wan face 
Radiant with glory to shine. 

All she hath found at the last — 
Kindred, and daughter, and home 

Hunger and cold over past, 
Christ and His pity had come. 

Sister, to all the redeemed, 

Christ was her dear elder brother ; 
A father so tender, He seemed 

All she had dreamed of a mother. 

Fantine, her Heavenly name, 
Fantine again as a child ; 

Free from her sorrow and shame, 
Fantine again undefiled. 

Fantine, the spotless and blest ; 

Fantine, transfigured by Love, 
Leaning her head on His breast, 

Passed to her mansion above. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

Soft angel voices at the dawn 
The shepherds heard that blessed morn 
Singing, " To you this day is born 
A Saviour. Christ the Lord !" 



SPklGS OF ACACIA. 4-S 

On high a matchless star shone bright, 
They saw its pure effulgent light. 
" Follow the star, 'twill guide aright," 
The heavenly chanters sang. 

It led them where the Infant lay, 
Shed on His face a silvery ray, 
Pure from the Throne of perfect day 
A hallowed glory there. 

Within the mother's arms of love 
He lay, the God-man from above, 
The Comforter, the Holy Dove, 
The Father's only Son. 

Oh, shepherds, gazing on that face, 
On whom the glory of the place 
Fell like a living flame of grace, 
Transfigured as ye knelt : 

Ye heard the seraph voices sing, 
Ye heard the heavenly arches ring, 
As countless legions on the wing 
Came down to earth that day ! 

Oh, blessed Christ, enthroned above, 
Let thy sweet story, spotless Dove, 
Lift saddened hearts to thee in love 
With holy influence pure ! 

Oh, glorious Prince, arrayed in light, 
Thy children coronaled in white 
Dwell in Thy presence day and night, 
Without a cloud between ! 

Brothers, for whom the God-man died, 
Wandering the stream of Death beside, 
Within the Saviour's arms abide 
A robe and crown for thee. 



46 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

"THE PEACE OF GOD." 

My heart was heavy with its burdened gloom, 

No light of day, no glimmering star illumed 

The pathway full of dangers and of fears. 

Mine eyes were bathed in darkest shrouds of night, 

My outstretched hands were groping for the door 

That turning on its golden hinges light, 

Should usher me to glorious perfect day. 

My feet were torn and bleeding with their toil 

O'er jagged rocks and bristling thorns bestrewed, 

My aching limbs refused their frail support, 

Fainting I lay so close beside the door. 

My weary hands could reach the silver cord, 

The slightest touch of which uplifted straight 

The golden latch that gently, gently bars 

God's peaceful day of light from sinful man. 

Mine hands were burdened with my own good deeds, 

Upon whose merits all my soul relied ; 

I could not grasp the silver cord of faith, 

I would not part with all my treasured hopes 

To gain through my own strength immortal life. 

So at the darkened door my spirit lay, 

Waiting for angels to uplift the latch, 

To open wide the shining entrance fair 

To heavenly courts of peace and love divine. 

I heard the blessed, happy sons of God 

Chanting their holy psalms of joy serene ; 

The sacred burden of their glad refrain, 

"Through Christ alone, through Christ alone," 

"Not unto us," the loving choral song. 

Yet still I grasped my own good deeds of love, 

Yet still my heart, so full of self and pride, 

Refused to trust its all on Christ alone. 

And so my spirit sad in darkness dwelt 

Close by the heavenly gate of rest and peace. 

My soul was sick and weary of its strife, 

And bending low my spirit groaned and prayed, 

And in its strugglings for the light divine, 



SPRIGS OF ACAClA. Al 

Uplifted hands unburdened of their load, 

Feeling for something mid the darkness drear, 

Took hold on Faith's strong silver cord of love, 

And as the pressure drew the golden latch, 

The door flew wide. I entered into life, 

I sang the choral service of the blest : 

" Not unto us, dear Lord, not unto us; 

Thy blood alone can make us white as wool, 

Thy love alone can set our spirits free; 

Through Christ alone we're saved ; through Christ alone 

The blessed peace of God can only come." 

Sweet peace of God ! grant us the peace of God ! 



-LOTTIE." 

THE T.RIDE OF AZRAEL. 

Peacefully sleeping the young bride lay, 
Daintily moulded the lifeless clay. 

Above her beautiful brow of snow, 
Blossoms of grace, their whiteness show. 

About the pure angelic face, 

Of care and pain, no single trace. 

And crossed upon her placid breast, 
The little hands sweet roses prest. 

O she was wondrous fair to see ; 
It seemed as if it could not be 

That she was dead. Ah, dreadful day, 
When her bright spirit left its clay. 

LTpon her breast a floral cross, 

Its meaning glad — her gain, our loss. 



4-S SPRtGS OF ACACiA 



Above her feet with silken shoes 
A wreath of beauty — mingling hues. 

And thus she lay in' flowery state, 
As loved ones lie at Heaven's gate. 

They said she sweetly smiled at last, 
When agony and pain were past. 

Within the glad cerulean eyes, 
The language of the upper skies. 

And tho' no word her lips unsealed, 
That heavenly glance, to us revealed 

A hope beyond the gates of death, 
As with her last expiring breath 

She softly smiled — at last to rest 
Her head upon Immanuel's breast. 

Now the Great Shepherd gently leads 
Her happy soul to fragrant meads. 

And where perennial roses blow, 
Her shining feet in beauty go. 

Beside the silver rippling stream 
Her robes of light in splendor gleam. 

O well beloved, beauteous child, 
Could'st thou now see our sorrow wild ! 

Methinks in pity for our pain, 
Thou fain would'st come to us again. 

We know that thou art happy now, 
Because upon thy peerless brow 






SPRiGS OF ACACIA. 49 

There rests the halo of the blest, 
The circlet of the Heavenly Guest. 

About thy lips the parting smile, 
With which thy spirit was ere while 

Released from earth, and spread its wing, 
Thou loveliest daughter of the King. 

We may not mourn our dead in Christ, 
Because beyond these clouds and mist 

They live again, and we shall meet 
And walk with them the golden street. 



AN EVANGEL. 



Alone, in outer darkness drear, 
No star illumed the hidden way, 

Trembling, my spirit walked in fear, 
I could not weep or pray. 

Alone, with burning eyes of flame, 

Amid the awful gloom, 
Walking beneath my load of shame, 

O'ershadowed by the tomb. 

No light, no light, from darkness dense 
Fiends shrieked and held me close, 

Till every anguished, gasping sense 
With nameless horror froze. 

From out this vale of terrors dread 

A soft voice in my ears 
Said, " Trust in Me, I'll safely lead, 

Banish thy doubts and fears, 



SO SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

" I'll bear thy burdens, spirit sad, 

Turn darkness into day, 
Will make thy future life so glad 

Where'er thy footsteps stray. 

" Take My strong hand, oh burdened soul ! 

Lean hard, I'll bear thee up, 
I am the Christ, I love thee, soul, 

Partook the bitter cup." 

My trembling hands within His own, 

I lean upon his arm. 
Alone ? No more I walk alone, 

I walk in peaceful calm. 



" CHARLES SUMNER." 

Who faced the haughty Southron's pride ? 
Who their malicious hate defied ? 
Who for fair Freedom bled and died ? 
Charles Sumner. 

Whose name doth Fame enrol beside 
Our Lincoln, martyred, glorified — 
Whose name the wide world deified ? 
Charles Sumner. 

Who snapped the chains of every slave ? 
Who saved our country from the grave ? 
Whose was the tender heart and brave ? 
Charles Sumner. 

Whose name doth nations bless to-day ? 
His that wrought and passed away ; 
He turned foul slavery's night to day, 
Charles Sumner. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA, 



We laid our chaplets on his brow ; 
He wears a fadeless chaplet now, 
Crowned with the stars he won below 
The ransomed slaves ! 



THE CROSS OF CHRIST. 

Clouds and thick darkness draped my shudd'ringsoul. 

Before mine eyes the pall of night and death ; 
No light to guide me to the heavenly goal — 

Groping in gloom, with faint, expiring breath. 

At length one star shone out with glimmering light, 
A little twinkling spark at first seemed to be. 

Yet as I gazed it grew in glory bright, 

Like one of Heaven's windows op'd for me. 

It was the light that shone around the Cross, 
On Bethlehem's plains unveiling first its rays, 

Beneath its graceful beams I count the world but dross, 
Carving its golden gleams thro' Life's uncertain way. 

A Cross of flame : whose wondrous, hidden power, 
Can draw to thee a world in sinful night. 

A Cross of shame, the sufferings of that hour 
Have won for thee immortal glory bright. 

By thee we triumph over death and hell — 
By all the anguish of thy torturing pain. 

Thro' thee we say: " He doet-h all things well." 
God gave — He will restore our dead again. 

Dear Cross of pity, Love's undying wreath 

Encircleth thee, and hides thy thorns with flowers, 

The crowning thorns of Him who conquered Death 
And op'd the gates of Heaven's eternal towers. 



52 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

We bear our cross of burdens with delight, 
Because of Him who died yet lived again. 

The love that robes our sinless souls in white, 
Inspires the happy spirit's joyful strain. 

Oh Cross of Christ, our grateful hearts enshrine 
Thy tender, holy psalm of pity, pain and tears. 

A Cross of Glory, by thy power divine, 
We'll rise immortal when our Lord appears. 



THE OCEAN. 



Thy ceaseless roar, old Ocean, breaks 

Upon our waking ear ; 
White is the strand with foamy flakes : 

We gaze with awe and fear. 

The sun, just from his morning bath, 

Is rising bright and gay ; 
Up his light aerial path 

He wings his onward way. 

Softly the Isles wake out of sleep, 

We trace their outlines fair, 
Spread on the bosom of the deep 

Like castles in the air. 

'Twixt Heaven and Earth they seem to lie, 
The " Happy Islands " pure, — 

Crystal palaces in the sky 
Where pleasures sweet allure. 

Sparkles grand Ocean's heaving breast 

With golden sunlight ray, — 
In morning robes of beauty drest 

For Freedom's natal day. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 53 



Our Nation's onward march she tones- 
Tones of majestic sound — 

But nature's organ vast, alone 
Swells out such strains around. 

And ever, like thy glorious chant, 
Our Country, fair and free, — 

O, Father, save her still, and grant 
Sweet Peace and Liberty. 



-FIDE Et AMORE. 

Speak ! spirit mine, 
Is Christ within ? 

O soul divine, 
Lovest thou sin ? 

Is Christ thy friend, 
Lovest thou Him ? 

Dost fear the end, 
The way so dim ? 

Weak heart of mine, 
Trust and believe, 

Thy doubts resign, 
Pure love receive. 

Immanuel come, 
Enlarge this soul ; 

Make it Thy home, 
Accept the whole. 

There is no peace, 
But in Thy arms, 

There is no ease 

From Death's alarms. 



54 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



Safe on Thy breast, 
Beneath Thine eye ; 

Soul, there find rest, 
Without a sigh. 

O bruised heart ! sad, 
Thou shalt not break ; 

Love, and be glad, 
Thy harp strings wake. 

Sing ! spirit, sing, 
Let praise employ ; 

Ring, soul bells, ring, 
The notes of joy. 



AUNT SALLY."— A SONG IN THE NIGHT. 

" Now, children," said sainted Aunt Sally, 
" Come listen, I'll sing you a song 

'Bout the time when I sperienced religion 
Down South where I used to belong : 

" One night as I lay in my cabin 

Alone with myself and the Lord, 
I just heard the angels singing 

A hymn of the sweetest accord. 

" 'Twas all about Jesus and glory, 

How He died on the cross for poor me, 

And they sang the most beautiful story, — 
How the soul of a slave could be free. 

" They sang of a blessed Redeemer, 

How He sits on His shining white throne, 

And shows His bruised hands to His Father, 
And crieth, ' My blood doth atone.' 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 55 



" They sang how He, full of compassion, 
Came down from His mansion above, 

And wandered, a pilgrim and a stranger, 
To show us His Father's great love. 

" And a voice in my spirit-ear whispered, 
He pleads, and He suffered for thee ; 

And I felt, with my heart full of sorrow, 
The Master had died for poor me. 

•• And it broke my proud hesrt 3 little chillen. 

And my spirit was bruised and sore, 
With my soul full of pitiful anguish, 

I lay on my old cabin floor. 

'•And I cried to the crucified Saviour, 
Lord Jesus have mercy on me — 

Blot out my transgressions forever, 
And let me find pardon in Thee. 

•• Now listen, my children, and wonder, 
While I tell you a marvellous thing ; 

I felt a soft hand on my shoulder, 
As the angels of glory did sing. 

•• And, listening, I heard His voice, saying 
Go, daughter, in peace, sin no more : 

While my soul, full of rapture and glory, 
Crossed over to Canaan's shore." 



SEPTEMBER DEW-DROPS. 

'• These pure crystalline gems of dew. 
Do they not seem, my friend, to you. 
Like tears of joy a god might shed 
Upon a ransomed world's fair head." 



56 SPRIGS OF ACACIA 



"THE ODD FELLOWS' ORPHANS." 

Suggested by witnessing the annual presentation of Christmas 
gifts to the orphans of deceased members of Washington Lodge, 
I. O. O. F., Washington, D. C. 

As one by one the orphans came, 

A sad and piteous sight, 
So tenderly he spoke each name, 

They trembled with delight. 

He was so odd, great tears ran down 

This true Odd Fellow's cheek ; 
For him there waits a glorious crown, 

The chaplet of the meek. 

The children of dead friends were they : 

Friends that he loved so well ; 
Friends that had clasped his hands to pray, 

Ere Death-sleep on them fell. 

Friendship's not all a sounding name, 

And Love is yet on earth. 
Sweet Charity, that covers shame, 

And Truth of priceless worth. 

These noble men by deeds displayed 

Their friendship for the dead, 
By loving care, and blessings laid 

Upon the orphan's head. 

Flow beautiful their shining feet, 

These messengers of love — 
How gladly doth the widow greet, 

Whose prayer ascends above. 

And he who hears the widow's prayer, 

The fatherless children's God, 
Shall shower blessings rich and fair 

Upon their own abode. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 57 

CENTENNIAL POEM. 

(JULY 4, 1875.) 

Air : — " Hail Columbia." 

A hundred years have gone and past, 
And the Union stands forever fast, 
Our country, undivided, whole, 
Shall stand altho' the ages roll, 
Firm on the rock of freedom's might ; 
The people's voice, the people right. 

Our fathers fought, and bled,- and died, 
To scatter truth on every side, 
They swore that slaves they would not be 
To tyrant kings across the sea : 
Freemen to live, and freemen to die : 
Their valor won the victory. 

On many a battle-field of strife 
They fought to save the nation's life ; 
They won their crowns of laurel green, 
They clothed their flag in starry sheen, 
They shed their blood that flag to save ; 
God bless our flag ! Long may it wavel 

All honor to our gallant sires, 

Who gave to us our altar fires ; 

We proudly sing our fathers' praise, 

And dedicate our humble lays 

To those great souls, fair freedom's might, 

Who fought like heroes for the right. 

God bless our country broad and free, 
Her arms extend from sea to sea, 
Strong hands uphold, strong arms defend 
Our Union that shall never end.- 
Columbia's stars shall float on high 
The proudest flag beneath the sky. 



38 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

God bless our native land ! and shield 
Her honor in the world's wide field ; 
Her heroes rule the land and sea, 
Columbia lives, her sons are free. 
United live, united die ; 
Their war cry, "death or victory." 

With hands and hearts, a united band, 
The States, like sisters, firmly stand. 
One heart and voice, unitedly 
They chant the song of liberty, 
Decked with the red, the white, and blue, 
The emblems *of our banner true. 

One God, one Church, one ship of State : 

One flag for all, both small and great ; 

One Union forever and ever shall stand, 

A Union beloved throughout the land. 

No North and no South, no East and no West, 

Columbia's fair children all clasped to her breast. 

All the stars in her ensign of beauty and grace, 
No daughter astray from Columbia's embrace ; 
The strong arms of love around them enfold 
With love that is rarer than silver and gold. 
America's boast and America's pride 
Is the land of our fathers — the heroes who died. 



"PRISONERS' CHORUS." 

FROM THE GERMAN OPERA " FIDELIO. 

O what delight in the free air, 
To breathe so soft and lightly. 
Life beameth brightly. 
The prison's a tomb of care, 
We joyful wait, so gladly, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 59 

OurCrod, we trust supremely, 
Ah, sweetly whispers Hope to me — 
We shall be free ; we shall be free. 
() hope ! deliverance, dear blue sky : 
Angels of life : when wilt thou come, 
Whisper : my comrades brave, of home, 
They guard us well with ear and eye. 



THE MARTYR'S CROWN. 

As on the lake by the tempest tost. 
Their barks engulfed and frail, 

Christ's fearful ones in terror lost, 
With trembling lips and pale. 

Awoke the master from his sleep, 
" W r ake Lord or else we die, 

(), seest thou not the raging deep, 
To Thee, for help we cry." 

'Tvvas thus our country bark was driven 

By treason's blighting gale, 
Rebellion's foul, mad storm had risen 

Her tow' ring mast and sail. 

Against the hate of slavery's brood, 

Secesia's threat'ning form, 
True to her helm she firmly stood 

And battled with the storm. 

So fearful was the night of death, 
The Pilot's cheek grew pale, 

The crew in terror held their breath, 
As fiercer blew the gale. 

The night was long and dark and drear, 
No star shone in the sky ; 






OO SPHIGS OF ACACIA. 



Yet Lincoln' 's faith was strong and clear, 
Freedom could never die. 

We'll ne'er give up the ship, he cried — 

In God is all our hope ; 
And in his faith the Martyr died, 

Just as the morning broke. 

The Master's hand hath stilled the strife, 
His voice hath hushed the wave ; 

But Abraham Lincoln's crowned with life- 
His stars the ransomed slaves. 



SAIDEE. 

Pretty little Saidee, with her flossy hair, 
Rippling over shoulders white and fair, 
Clustering round her pure brow curls of sunny hue, 
Eyes the seraphs dwell in, soft cerulean blue. 

Darling little Saidee, with her dimpled hands, 
Tender arms entwining round in snowy bands, 
Precious kisses hid within lips of nectar sweet, 
How the twinkling feet run fond papa to meet. 

Don't you think we love her, rosy, laughing pet ? 
Warbling like a birdie notes you ne'er forget ; 
In our hearts we hide her, safe from every care, 
Only God's white messenger knows she's hidden there. 

If he came to claim her for his Lord the King, 

If he sang to charm her songs the angels sing, 

He could never win her, nestled closely there — 

Do you think he'd take her, heeding not our prayer? 

Once He came unto us, took the babie sweet — 
He was very gentle — smoothed the restless feet, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 61 

Whispered to its mother, babie is not dead, 
Laid upon his white breast Willie's golden head. 

Pretty little Saidee singing all the day, 

Like a happy song bird, driving care away, 

Saidee, darling, bide with us through life's weary stay, 

Bide with us forever, sweet, bide with us alway. 



" EVERY CLOUD HATH A SILVERY LINING." 

TO THE GALLANT VOLUNTEERS OF THE 2D N. H. VOLS. 

Every cloud hath a silvery lining ; 

No sorrow without alloy : 
Night is sure to have its dawning 

Brightly beam with peace and joy. 

Every cloud hath a silvery lining : 
War's dread front in grim array 

Is linked with Peace, in bands entwining 
Slavery's night to Freedom's day. 

Every cloud hath a silvery lining : 
Freedom's cause shall never fail ! 

Hearts of gold, in fire refining, 

Deeds, not words, shall tell thy tale. 

Every cloud hath a silvery lining : 

Bask in its glistening sheen — 
Look on the side the sun is shining — 

No veil, thine eyes between. 

Every cloud hath a silvery lining : 
Mercy's drops are the drops that fall : 

A Father's hand in love is chast'ning — 
Our Father above, who cares for all. 



€ C A SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



Every cloud hath a silvery lining : 

Sunbeam's shimmeiing rays 
Gild the edge with a fleecy binding — 

Emblem of the coming days. 

The clouds are gone with their silvery lining- 
Freedom's day at last has come ! 

Fair and gay our sun is shining, 

Black-browed Slavery meets her doom ! 

Gird on, then, your armor bright, 

Unsheath the sword your grand sires drew, 

And foremost in the bloody fight 

Let " Ellsworth " be your watchword true. 

Go ! God speed you, freemen brave ! 

Earnest prayer for you shall rise, 
That if -you fall, " Our Christ " will save, 

In Heaven's own Paradise, 

Where is no cloud for silvery lining, 
And all our tears are wiped away ; 

The River of Life ceaseless winding 
'Mid flowers of Eden blooming gay. 



DOLLY VARDEN. 



Mistress, it has accomplished a Dorothy Varden 
She resembles a High Dutch flower garden — 
Pansies and tulips and heart's delight, 
Contrasting with roses and snow balls white. 

Monk's caps, blue bells, and daffy-down-dillies, 
Lilac and jasmine, with chaste tiger lilies, 
Of cactus and night-blooming cereus, no lack — 
This tasty arrangement hitched up to her back. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. (33 

The hat is a Dolly of amiable style, 
Its peak is a horticultural pile, 
Looks very like an inverted wash basin ; 
Effect is certainly very amazing. 

She really intends to wear it to church, 
If so the divine will be left in the lurch ; 
Because, meditation, you know, and all that, 
Are nothing indeed to a Doll Varden hat. 

As she sails up the aisle in this scandalous rig, 
The organ, as usual, will laugh out a jig, 
And the choir, for once united, will cry, 
Doll Varden has come, and don't she look high ! 

We've told her all this. Now what do you think ! 
She says, " It is splendid to make people blink : 
And what is church for, I wonder now, pray, 
If not for the ladies to make a display." 

We have hinted that once in the long ago, 
Grandmothers perhaps didn't go for a show, 
Wore a sugar scoop hat and a very plain dress, 
Not strictly artistical, now, I confess. 

Vet the heavenly faces that shone with delight, 
Were the faces of seraphs, now walking in white, 
And the trim little figures were loved by brave men ; 
Don't you wish for old times to come back again ? 

Confidentially, now, what would you advise, 

If the dove of your pocket, the light of your eyes, 

Persisted in wearing this hideous suit, 

Divorce, consequential damages, to boot ? 

No use, do you say, that a woman of spunk 
Has a right to put on everything in her trunk, 
Trailed down and hitched up in a curious heap, 
That a husband absolutely do^s nothing but weep ? 



64 SFRIGS OF ACACIA. 



And so, we suppose she will actually wear 
The dress that with nothing on earth will compare. 
Of all the strange fashions from over the sea, 
A chintz Dolly Varden's the strangest to me. 



-THE GOOD SHEPHERD." 

(A CHRISTMAS CAROL SANG CHRISTxMAS DAY TO THE 
CHILDREN OF THE WASHINGTON ORPHAN ASYLUM.) 

On Bethlehem's plain a glad refrain 
The bright stars sang till Heaven rang. 

Children of God, with one accord, 

And voices sweet, Christ's birthday greet. 

Ye are His lambs ; His loving hands 
Folds you to rest upon His breast. 

By waters still and sparkling rill 
He gently leads to flowery meads. 

Dear Lord of love, enthroned above, 
O hear on high thy children's cry. 

Bring them at last, when life is past, 
To chant Thy praise thro' endless days. 



SEPTEMBER DEW-DROPS. 

How these diamond dew-drops gleam, 
Fading like a poet's dream ; 
When the morning sunbeam's light 
Chase the shadows of the night. 
See ! the lily lifts her bell, 
Hear its music softly swell, 
As the dew-drops sink to rest 
On her spotless virgin breast. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. C3 



THE WOOING OF THE ROSE. 

Sang the Rose, who was red, . 

To the white Lily Belle : 
" Pray, lift up your head, 

I have some thing to tell. 
Do you know, pretty flower, 

That your sweet, modest way 
Is a beautiful dower ? 

It is charming, I say. 
You hide your pure face, 

With your eyes on the ground, 
If a Rose hath the grace 

Even to utter a sound. 
You are really so sweet, 

With your white dress so fair, 
Just shows your small feet, 

And it gives you an air : 
You are genteel and neat, 

And your figure is line ; — 
Pray ! look at me, sweet, 

I think you divine. 
Master Rose, who would think 

Such a prince of the blood 
Would bestow e'en a wink 

On a pale lily bud. 
I don't know but I might 

Get up quite a scene, 
Overcome with delight 

At becoming a queen. 
But I'm modest, you know, 

And do not aspire, 
And my robe like the snow, 

It is all I desire. 

Your robe, like the snow, 
Dear Lily Belle, sweet, 
Is distingue, you know. 



66 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

And exquisitely neat. 
With a Rose by your side, 

In his doublet of red, 
You would be just the bride 

I would willingly wed. 
The more I behold you, 

The fairer you grow ; 
I really am bold, too ; 

I love you, you know. 
Love indeed, with a Rose, 

Is a serious thing, 
And deeper it grows 

As I tenderly sing." 

Then Miss Lily Belle, sweet, 

Lifted up her pure face — 
Took her eyes off her feet ; 

And with flower-like grace 
To the red Rose replied, 

With a blush-tint so fair, 
And her head on one side : 

" Dear Rose, I declare 
I will walk by your side 

In my simple white dress, 
And whatever betide, 

'Tis my mission to bless." 
Then Miss Lily's soft eyes 

Dropped down at her feet, 
As she tenderly sighs : 

" O ! I love you, Rose sweet 
Master Rose bent his head, 

As he kissed her pure lips, 
And Miss Lily blushed red 

To her white finger tips. 
To this day, as you see, 

Maiden Lily Belles fair, 
Coquettishly free, — 

Love a Rose in the hair. 






SPRiGS OF ACACIA. G7 



" LA PETITE FILLE." 

Do you know a little maiden ? 

Orbs of sapphire — cheek of bloom. 
Uo you love the little maiden ? 

Lips of coral — breath perfume. 

Do you know a charming maiden ? 

Neck all grace and shoulders lair. 
Do you love the darling maiden's 

Golden braids of .flossy hair ? 



Do you know a spotless maiden ? 

Alabaster brow so pure. 
Do you love the stainless maiden's 

Sweetest eves, love's soft allure ? 



Do you know a gentle maiden ? 

Song-bird voice and breast of dove. 
Do you love the fluttering maiden ? 

And doth she return thy love? 

Is she not the happy maiden ? 

Dimpled laughter, full of pearls. 
Love because you must — the maiden's 

Satin braids and sunny curls. 

If you know the maid of maidens, 
Worship at the holy shrine, 

Till you win the spotless maiden's 
Sacred heart of love divine. 

Winning for thyself a maiden, 

Crown her brow with bridal flowers. 

In thy spirit bless the maiden, 

Leading thee to Hymen's bowers. 



68 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



"ALICE MAUDE." 

Little Maudie's come to town ; 
Fleecy clouds of broidered gown 
Float around a pile of down — 
Pretty Alice Maude. 

Little Maudie's come to town ; 
Just from fairie-land hath flown ; 
Roses in her cheeks, half-blown — 
Darling Alice Maude. 

Dimpled Maudie's wondrous fair ; 
Sunbeams in her flossy hair 
Shed a golden halo there — 
Lovely Alice Maude. 

Dainty Alice Maudie dear ; 
On thy soft cheek falls a tear ; 
Strangely like her who was here, 
Art thou, Alice Maude? 



Just like thine her violet eyes, 
How we mourned, till from the skies, 
Came in answer to our cries — 
Babie Alice Maude. 

And tho' Saidee comes not back 
Down the starlight's silver track, 
We shall never, never lack 
God's uplifting grace. 

Little Maudie's come to town ; 
Fold her in her fleecy gown ; 
Cherubs guard her bed of down — 
Precious Alice Maude. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 69 



« PASS ON." 

Fraternally dedicated to the memory of the late Chief George 
II. Copeland by "A Comrade."' 

" Pass on," he said, " to the gathering throng ; 

Pass on, I shall soon be well ; 
I hear the strains of a heavenly song, 

Like the sound of a golden bell." 

" "Pis the song of angels on wings of snow, 

And the harps of the seraphs white, 
Chanting so sweetly in murmurings low, 

That death is the end of night." 

" That the beautiful gates of eternal day 

Will dawn on my vision soon ; 
All anguish and sorrow shall fade away, 

In the sunlight of heavenly noon." 

' ; There's a victor's palm for a soldier there, 

Who never betrayed his trust ; 
A home where the patriot's spirit lives, 

When his body is low in the dust." 

" And so I'll pass on to a mansion there, 

And my weary soul shall rest ; 
Pass on, pass on with a heart at peace, 

And this love within my breast." 

We know that the patriot soldier sleeps, 

With his honors on his breast ; 
But the soul is sad and the mourners weep — 

For the loved and lost at rest. 

Pass on, gentle soldier, sleep softly in peace, 

Dear comrade so tender and true ; 
A friend to the friendless, a brother in need, 

Our tears are now falling for you. 

5 



TO SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



GLENWOOD. 



WASHINGTON, D. (J. 



Beautiful home of our silent dead, 
Home where throbbeth no aching head ; 
Who enters thy flowery kingdom fair, 
Hath parted with sorrow, pain, and care. 

Here cometh no evils of mortal life ; 
Here endeth the jars of the world, and strife ; 
Here is the haven of way-worn feet ; 
Thy slumber is dreamless, peaceful, sweet. 

O, buds of snow and fragrant bloom ! 
Thy heavenly beauty lights the tomb. 
O, emerald slopes and swaying trees ! 
Ye softly whisper to the breeze 

Of things our vision may not see, 

Of loving spirits, happy, free, 

Whose fragrant, flower-like presence rare, 

With murmurings tender, soothe our care, 

And sometimes touch with fingers light, 
And cloud-like robings, spotless white, 
Our weary hands upraised in prayer, 
Seeking for peace — communion — there. 

Seeking for consolation's balm, 
To still our anguish sweetly calm, 
Sad Nature's yearning for her dead — 
Our darlings in their holy bed. 

O, beauteous Glenwood 1 home of peace, 
W T hen comes to us the soul's release, 
Enfold within thy arms of rest 
The form that sleeps in Jesus blest. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 71 



THE PREACHERS' PRAYER MEETING. 

Held at Ihc Free Methodist Conference, Philadelphia, Sept., 1884. 

A small, pale woman filled with power — 

She led that pilgrim band 
Up thro' the mists and clouds of earth 

Into the Beulah land. 

She led them by her precious tears, 

The soft tones of her voice, 
Until the glory of the place 

Made every heart rejoice. 

She prayed for them, her children dear — 

Her well beloved band — 
That God would bring them safe at last 

Into the promised land. 

She told them of the matchless love, 

The beauty and the rest ; 
Of souls unspotted as the Dove — 

Enshrined within His breast. 

She told them of the mighty power 

Of consecration grace, 
Until those pilgrims' gentle souls 

Saw Jesus face to face ; 

That the dear Lord would give them grace 

To cheer them on the way ; 
That every evil thing should fail 

To lead their hearts astray. 

Ah ! how their shouts rang out again, 

The hallelujahs high, 
The tears of holy gladness sweet, 

That beamed in everv eve. 



72 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



Ab ! how they sang — that pilgrim band- 
Strange heavenly music sweet, 

Like that' with which the blessed throng 
Cast crowns at Jesus' feet, 

O, glorious place ! O, hallowed hour 

Of Pentecostal flame ! 
That burned the last of sinful dross, 

Sealed with His mystic name. 

God bless thee, gentle sister fair ! 

Thy words of gospel grace — 
Thy precious tears, the pilgrims shrine 

Within the holy place. 

There blossoms in the poet's heart 

A fragrant spotless flower — 
Its loveliness immortal lives — 

The memory of that hour. 



TREASURES. 



No gems or gold upon thy shrine, 
True love and hope, with rays divine, 
Illume the altar of my home, 
And guide my feet where'er I roam. 

My treasures are a loving wife, 
That strews with flowers my path of life ; 
Her crown of glory, my dear love — 
A spirit gentle as the dove. 

Like satin shines her nut-brown hair, 
Above her regal forehead fair ; 
Within her dark eyes' tender light, 
Enshrined angels robed in white. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 7& 

One laughing, winsome, dainty sprite, 
Saiclee, ray pet, my heart's delight, 
Bright amber ringlets, azure eyes, 
A little treasure, pearl of price. 

Soft dimpled hands, wee bits of feet, 
That dance along, papa to greet ; 
Sweet tender lips that pout and curl. 
And cheek of rosy tinted pearl. 

One plump limbed, saucy, smiling boy — 
A thing of love, and life, and joy ; 
Pure eyes like Raphael's orbs of light — 
A cherub's brow of stainless white. 

I lay my jewels at the feet 
Of Him who gave, in faith so sweet, 
That when He claims them for His own, 
I'll find my treasures near the Throne. 



FAITH. 

In the world of care and sorrow, 
Think not of the dread to-morrow. 
Soul ! dear soul ! find rest to-day, 
Evil comes too soon ahvay. 

Is thine heart with grief opprest, 
Lean thine head on Jesus' breast, 
Let His hand enclasp thine own, 
Trust, dear soul ! Christ's on His throne. 

Do thy weary limbs grow weak ? 
Think on Him, who suffering, meek, 
Uncomplaining, bore thy sin ; 
Trust, dear s ul ! strong faith must win. 



74 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Ivnowest thou not He lovest thee well, 
Knowest thou not amid the swell 
Of the mountain billows' height, 
Faith, sweet soul ! shall guide aright. 

Loving Christ, what need of fears ? 
Loving Christ, what need of tears ? 
Christ loves thee with love untold, 
Soul ! dear soul ! thy wings unfold. 

Let thy spirit soar on high, 

On thy shining pinions fly, 

To the heights and depths of love. 

Trust, dear soul ! He reigns above. 

In this world of care and sorrow, 
lake no thought, soul ! of the morrow, 
Troubled spirit, rest to-day, 
Jesus cares for thee alway. 



RADICALISM. 

RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO THE " HOYS IN BLUE. 

Sweet smiling babe of beauty rare, 

That nestles at thy mother's knee — 
The bonded slave with brow so fair 

Will ever from the taint be free? 
No love-light tender fills those eyes ; 

A bitter sob burst from her heart, 
The mother's breast 's a fount of sighs, 

She from her loved one soon must part. 
He comes ! the scowling Southron's face 

Glares on the twain with sullen brow, 
Spurns with his foot the hated race, 

Then falls the lash with cruel blow. 
No cry escapes- the anguished lip, 



m 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. . 75 

No tear falls down upon her child, 
Her eyes see not the master's whip, 

She lifts to God those dark orbs mild, 
" How long, O Lord !" her bitter cry, 

" Shall Afric's dusky race be crushed? 
On us these chains forever lie ? 

Nor ever be our wailing hushed ?" 

The master heard the pleading prayer, 

His swarthy cheek grew pale with fear, 
A guilty conscience bade beware, 

His black heart knew that God would hear. 
Full well he knew the Northmen brave, 

Obedient to the higher will, 
Had sworn an oath to free the slave, 

"' Our country 's mission''' to fulfill. 

E'en now the warlike trumpet's blast 

Breaks on his ear with thrilling note, 
Sounding his doom, his hour is past, 

While on his slmm the day hath broke. 
The mother heard the joyous strain, 

And knew her prayer was answered. Now 
Her eyes have lost their look of pain, 
Sweet hope and joy sit on her brow, 

The " Boys in Blue " dash off her chain; 
She lifts to heaven the baby fair, 
Then clasps him to her heart again, 

As moves her lips in whispered prayer. 

The " cursed Yankees " catch the words, 

As to " Our Father's " throne they rise, 
Then lift on high their flashing swords, 

And upward turn their tear-wet eyes. 
Her prayer was for the " Boys in Blue," 

That on their heads rich blessings fall, 
While battling for the right and true, 

Obedient to their country's call. 



73 SPRiGS OF ACACIA. 

They mount upon a bounding steed, 

The dark-eyed mother and her child, 
Forever from her slave bonds freed, * 

While rings the air with huzzas wild. 
Then on their mission dashed the brave 

To other scenes of war and strife, 
Nor stayed their course till every slave 

Was freed from bonds and woke to life 
God bless the " Bonnie Boys in Blue," 

Is ever now the Freedman's prayer, 
Who fought the fight so brave and true, 

And wear their laurel chaplets fair. 



BY THE SEA 



In front the restless ocean grand, 

Upon its heaving breast, 
The white-winged ships from foreign land 

Nearing the port of rest. 

Afar the isles in beauty float 

Against the summer sky, 
And ever and anon a note 

The sea-bird's lonely cry. 

The waves toss up their snowy ciests 

Upon the silver sand, 
And with their white and throbbing breasts 

Lie prostrate on the strand. 

They murmur psalms of solemn sound ; 

They chant a hymn of praise, 
While all the surging billows round 

Intone old Ocean's lays. 

And thus we linger on the shore 

Of Life's dark restless sea, 
Until we rest for ever more 

In glad eternity. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. T3 

Waiting by Jordan's stormy flood 

To cross to Heaven's shore ; 
Saved through the Lamb's atoning blood, 

Where Death comes never more. 

Waiting the Master's voice to hear 

Above the raging sea, 
" Come blessed, come without a fear ; 

Come faithful ones to Me." 

Our bark celestial's golden prow 

Is on the silvery strand, 
And soft the gentle zephyrs blow 

Toward the better land. 

The angel pilot's pinions white, 

His radiant garments fair, 
Illume the flood with hallowed light, 

He waiteth soul to bear 

Thy spirit o'er the starless wave 

Into the port of rest, 
Beyond the borders of the grave, 

To thy Redeemer's breast. 

O sad heart wipe thy tears away ; 

Thy dear ones gone before 
Are waiting at the gates of day 

Thy coming to the shore. 



A LA MODE." 



Walking down the Avenue, quizzing ladies gay, 
Seems to be the fashion every windy day ; 
If the weather's boist'rous, who finds fault with that ? 
Not the blue-eyed beauty in the jaunty hat. 



78 SFRIGS OF ACACIA. 



'Tis not the plump Senora, draped in velvet sheen, 
Not the tripping damsel robed in Fenian green ; 
'Tis not old fuss and feathers, painted white and red, 
All the hair in Washington frizzled on her head. 

" (), it's so delightful, this fine bracing air — 
Gives one quite a color, I solemnly declare ; 
If those horrid gentlemen wouldn't look this way, 
I vow I'd walk the Avenue every windy day." 

" And then these lovely dresses, short and very sweet, 
They really are so charming with pretty twinkling feet; 
Display prunella gaiters, that lace so nice and high, 
'Tis very plain the gentlemen are either fools or sly .' 

" They stand upon the corner, I'm sure I don't know 

why, 
Unless they're paid a quarter to keep the crossing dry; 
Why they choose the muddiest — 'tis funny, I declare," 
Exclaimed a blushing maiden with wealth of kinky 

hair. 

" If I were Mistress Bangup, and had such horrid feef > 
I'd never lift my dress e'en to cross a muddy street ; 
And if my dear Miss Shankie could see as she is seen, 
She'd ne'er display to gentlemen the bones of what 
she'd been. 

Now I'm a modest lady, with pretty decent feet, 
And if the naughty wind will blow when I'm upon the 

street, 
I really cannot help it !" exclaimed the damsel fair, 
" The doctor says I must go out and take the bracing 

air." 

Walking down the Avenue on a windy day. 

I confess to you, sir, takes my breath away ; 

If the weather's boist'roin, who finds fault with that ? 

Not the horrid gentlemen, you can bet a hat. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 7y 

SLAVERY'S CHAIN. 



" Slavery chain's done broke at last !" 

Afric's daughter sang to me: 
" Slavery chain's done broke at last, 

Colored people's got clar free." 

" Slavery chain's done broke at last !" 
Coal black eyes, danced, full of glee : 

" Slavery chain's done broke at last : 
Free,'' 1 sang she, ft from sea to sea." 

" Slavery chain's done broke at last !" 
White souled freemen browed with night, 

Thralls from spirits snapt at last, 
Sweetly dawned the morning light. 

" Slavery chain's done broke at last !" 
Now uncursed our banners wave — 

Slavery's dead, is dead at last, 
Foul robed Hecate's in her grave. 

" Slavery chain's done broke at last — 
Bought with fearful price we're free, 

Stripes and tears are gone at last ; 
Free, thank God, from sea to sea." 



THE WINE CUP. 

Rosy wine and crystal ice 

In a golden cup, 
Sparkling, jewelled, winning vice, 

Ami, give it up. 

Is there then no danger nigh, 

In this golden bowl ? 
Every drop's a tear or sigh, 

Or a ruined soul. 



SO SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Every crystal ice-gem there, 

In its ruby sea, 
Is the demon's glistening snare, 

.Ami, from it flee. 

And this cup of gold's a lie, 
Garnished like the truth, 

Let the poisoned draught go by — 
Keep thy happy youth. 

Golden cup and nectar sweet 
Downward lead to hell, 

Broken hearts and bleeding feet, 
Soon the story tell. 

Hast thou dear ones that you love ? 

Love it turns to hate, 
Hope of Heaven, joys above ? 

Closes Heaven's gate. 

Touch not, friend, this cup of gold, 

With its fragrant wine, 
And thy life with joys untold, 

Evermore shall shine. 



TRAILING ARBUTUS. 

W T e do not ken thy pure celestial name, 
We only know thy dainty name of earth, 

Feeling, we know not why, it's passing strange, 
That thou, fair flow'ret came of heavenly birth. 

Perhaps a seraph in the land of light 

Decked her white bosom with thy tinted bells, 

To crown her waving tresses softly culled 
Thy sprays of sweetness in the sacred dells. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 81 



A wanton zephyr in her merry play 

With rosy fingers stole the seraph's crown, 

And on her golden-tipped aerial wings 
Thy censered bloom to earth came down. 

Earth's happy maidens love thy modest face, 
Thy pearly-tinted cheek with blushes fair, 

The palmy fragrance of thy bosom's sigh, 
Thy vernal mantle and thy graceful air. 

They press thee to their sinless, loving hearts, 
They smile so sweetly in thy beauteous face, 

They worship at thy holy shrine of light, 
Thou floral maiden full of heavenly grace. 

And some enfold thee to an aching breast, 

An emblem sweet of what they once have been, 

Ere the destroyer with his lips of guile 

Robbed their white spirits of their spotless sheen. 

And some upon their thorny beds of pain 

Greet thy bright presence with a gleam of joy, 

They touch with wasted fingers tenderly, 
Thou brightest healing balm without alloy. 

Thy white robes trailing and thy matchless face, 
Thy gentle breathings full of ince«nse sweet, 

Thy cooling touch so light and soothing there, 
Thy noiseless velvet-sandaled feet. 

We twine thy holy blossoms round our dead, 
About the darling's stainless brow of snow, 

And o'er the baby fingers' folded grace 

Thy glossy leaves and bloom in beauty flow. 

Thou chanteth us a wondrous psalm of love, 
That as thou comest with the joyous spring, 

So shall our dear ones from their-home above 
Return at last to make our sad hearts sin«^. 



82 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

THE WIDOW'S MITE. 

Amid the throng of wealth and pride, 
The widow stood with downcast eyes ; 

Pushed by the crowd, from side to side, 
Of haughty Jews and rulers wise. 

Into the treasury showered the gold ; 

Silver and gold she lacked, and yet 
Within her heart was wealth untold — 

Love, joy and peace in gladness met. 

The blessed Lord regarded her ; 

Noted the paltry mite she cast ; 
Rang clearly out above the stir — 

" She gives her all — she gives the last." 

" Ye of your wealth have given free, 
She of her pittance giveth all ; 

Amid her want and poverty, 

Trusts Him who notes the sparrow's fall.' 

So little mites accepted are 

Dropped into the treasury of the Lord ; 
Bestowed # in meekness gathered there, 

They spread the gospel all abroad. 

They preach the word in every tongue ; 

They tell to all Immanuel's name ; 
They waken sorrow into song ; 

Give peace and joy to guilt and shame. 

Your all is not too much to give 
To Him who gave up all for thee ; 

Grace waits for all ; Christ will forgive ; 
Faith wins the crown of pardon free. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. S3 



As on the widow's mite of old, 
The blessing of the Master fell ; 

So shall thy heart in love's enfold, 
With rapturous strains of glory swell. 

Remember, friend, that as ye mete 
Your gifts unto the Lord Most High ; 

So shall the pathway for your feet 

Be strewn with blessings from the sky 



BABIE. 

And a little child shall lead them, 
Chimes the word of holy truth ; 

While a tiny hand shall point them 
To the spring of fadeless youth. 

We've a little child that leads us, 
Twining sweetly round the heart, 

Holding 'tween her fairy fingers, 
Clasped hands, joined ne'er to part. 

And this " little one " that leads us, 
With her eyes of softest blue, 

Cheeks that dimple into beauty, • 
Tender lips of rosy hue, 

Folds within her soft embrace 

Fondest hopes the world can give-; 

Garnered there the choicest bless ings- 
(), for these 'twere life to live. 

Ani this " little child " that leads us 
Into pastures blooming fair, 

To the " Golden Gate " shall lift us, 
Knock and find an entrance there. 



84 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



For by little children leading, 

Weak hearts gain the silver shore, 

Tiny hands with love's entreating 
Open wider Heaven's door. 

" Heaven's door " on golden hinges, 
Turns at little children's nod, 

For of such is glory teeming, 
Such behold the face of God. 

So our " little child " shall lead us 
On through life's uncertain way, 

Beacon light mid dark earth's mazes, 
Morning star of perfect day. 



WANTED. 



A clean, pure heart without a stain ; 

A heart all free from sin ; 
A heart that hates an evil thought, 

Nor gives it place within. 

W T anted : a heart washed white as snow 

In the Redeemer's blood ; 
A heart that beats for God alone, 

Cleansed in that purple flood. 

Wanted : a heart so clean and sweet, 

Filled with a sea of love, 
Baptized in joy and tenderness ; 

Ark for the Heavenly Dove. 

Wanted : a heart that knows no fear 

Of man or fiends of hell ; 
Replete with holy confidence, 

His mighty love to tell. 









SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 83 



Wanted : a heart where love supreme 
Sits on its great white throne, 

Where only one sweet voice is heard — 
The Master's voice alone. 

Wanted : a heart that weeps for souls 
Astray from peace and rest ; 

A heart that pleads with sinners lost, 
And leads them to his breast. 

Wanted : a glad obedient heart 

That loves to do his will ; 
A heart that hears amid all strife 

The Master's " Peace be still." 

Wanted : a heart, a clean, clean heart, 
No more my Lord to grieve, 

That gladly does his holy will, 
That cries, " Lord, I believe." 

O, that the cleansing wave might flow 
Within this heart of mine ; 

That this frail, bruised, longing heart 
Might feel thy touch divine. 

And all its strivings sweetly cease ; 

Look up the promise claim : 
" All things are possible to him 

Who asketh in His name." 

Ah : mighty Master, loving Christ, 

I may not ever rest 
Until thou bidst me softly lean 

My head upon thy breast ; 

Until thy sacred touch hath healed 

My bruised, weary heart ; 
Until thou speak the blessed word 

That bids my sin depart. 



86 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



I cannot let thee go until, 
Within my burdened heart ; 

I feel the kindling of that flame 
Of love thou dost impart. 

The flame that burns the carnal dross 
Within this heart of mine ; 

Until my heart of hearts reflects 
No image Lord but thine. 

No idol there of gold or clay, 

No will but thine alone, 
No king but thee, no love but thine, 

My heart thy spotless throne. 

How can 1 let thee go — my peace, 
My life, my joy, my rest — 

Until thou wash me white as snow 
And fold me to thy breast ? 

Thou seest me at thy shining feet, 
Thou seest my soerowing tears ; 

I'm listening for thy loving words 
To soothe my pain and fears. 

I will not let thee go, my Prince, 

My Saviour and my all ; 
King of my soul, oh break, oh break, 

My heart from sinful thrall. 



THE MASTER. 



Thou art the Master : at thy feet 
I sit and learn love's lesson sweet. 

Thou art my Master, Lord, and King : 
For thee I strike my harp and sing ; 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 87 

And, as I touch its chords of gold, 
I'll sing thy matchless love untold ; 

Sing praises glad in heavenly strains, 
For in my heart he sweetly reigns. 

My Master, clad in raiment white, 
Upon a throne of dazzling light, 

Thou art so lovely in my sight, 

My King, whose presence is delight : 

Thou art so pure, divinely fair ; 
Thine image on my heart I bear, 

And all my joy and peace and rest 
I find while leaning on thy breast. 

Thou art my hope, my Life, my King ; 
So, lovingly thy praise I'll sing : 

I wear the garments of thy grace, 
And see the beauty of thy face. 

Upon my brow thy kiss of peace, 
The signet of my soul's release ; 

Thy strong right hand enfoldeth mine 
With thrilling tenderness divine ; 

Thy glory fills my pathway bright 
With heaven's own soft, effulgent light. 

Thou hast exalted, Lord, my head, 
Redeemed my spirit from the dead, 

Washed this frail, sinful heart of mine. 
baptized me with thy grace divine ; 



88 SPRiGS OF ACACIA. 



So, Master dear, my harp of gold 
I'll touch for thee with love untold, 

And sing my sweetest strains for thee. 
Who set my soul at liberty. 



BURIAL OF CAPT. HALL, OF THE POALRIS. 

Mid ice and snow, and Arctic gloom, 
They laid him in his frost-bound tomb. 

With sad, sad hearts and tearful eyes 
They left with Death his noble prize. 

The North wind chants his requiem wild 
With tender moanings for his child. 

Aurora's eyes of midnight glow 
Illume his grave of ice and snow. 

And thus he sleeps in placid rest, 
All calm and peace within the breast 

That throbbed in life with pulses brave, 
The storm king guards his lonely grave. 

And though no flowerets deck the spot, 
His golden deeds are not forgot. 

And though no weeping willows shade, 
His memory green shall never- fade. 

Sleep on, brave soul, thy work was done, 
And thou hast nobly, grandly won 

Thy victor wreath, the conquering palm, 
While Ocean chants thy life's great psalm. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 89 

"TINA." 



Tina had a soft blue eye, 
Like the ether of the sky. 
Blessing, sent us from on high, 

Little rosebud sweet. 
Tina was our heart's delight, 
Wrapped in dainty robes of white. 
Was she not a pretty sight, 

With her tinted feet? 

Tina had a brow so fair, 
Rings of sunny, silken hair, 
Breathing gently earth's strange air 

Just from heaven's gate. 
Saw you not around her head, 
Rays of wondrous glory shed, 
And about her snowy bed 

Loving angels wait ? 

How they swayed the golden hair, 
As their pinions in the ait- 
Fanned the baby sleeping there, 

Laughing in his rest. 
Angels whisper all the day, 
To the sinless spirit stray, 
That is why babes smile, they say, 

On the mother's breast. 

Tina's gone to Christ above, 
Folded in his arms of love 
Lives our little spotless dove : 

Shall we see her there? 
Faith hath eyes of hidden power, 
Bids us wait the joyful hour, 
When the clouds that darkly lower, 

Wake in beautv rare. 



90 SPRIGS OF ACACIA 



MEMORIAL SERVICE. 

(OF THREE BISHOPS.) 

At Metropolital Methodist Episcopal Church, Washington, 1). C, 
April 17th, 1870. 

Upon the sacred altar shrine 

A host of buds and bloom. 
Like white-browed seraphim divine 

About the Saviour's tomb. 

Pure, fragrant flowers, fit emblems sweet 

Of spirits clothed in white, 
Bending round Immanuel's feet 

With coronals of light. 

(), tender buds ! O, perfect bloom ! 

Ye mind me of the day 
When. from the silent, darkened room, 

They took my boy away. 



Upon his sinless bosom lay 

Your holy kindred rare ; 
O, flowers of snow ! I hear you say, 

" He was the loveliest there !" 

What mission hath the flowers to-day? 

What story do they tell? 
Is it of good men passed away, 

Ye charming lily bell ? 

Tell me, pale lilies, why ye toll 

Your tiny silver bells ? 
Tell me, white roses, hath a soul 

Drank from the living wells ? 

I listen, and the lilies chime, 
" One of God's servants lies 

Afar'from home in foreign clime,— 
His spirit never dies." 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 91 

And listening still, the roses sing. 

" Two others from their posts 
Have soared away on seraph wing, 

And joined the ransomed hosts." 

Another song ye sing to me. 

Ye holy censered bells, 
Beyond the waves pf Death's sad sea 

Tolleth no funeral knells." 

O, buds and bloom ! ye do not weep, 

Your strain hath no alloy ; 
Ye sing so tenderly, " They sleep 

To wake in endless joy." 



" THE BURDEN-BEARER. 

In all the wide, wide world, 
No hand to lift me up, 

No arm to lean upon ; 

Nothing but sorrow's cup. 

In all the wide, wide world, 
No warm and loving heart, 

No words of blessed cheer ; 
From all I sit apart. 

In all the wide, wide world, 
No hope of earthly joy, 

No life, no peace, no rest — 
Sad songs my lips employ. 

(), Master, lift me up ! 

O, let me feel Thy hand ! 
Remove this bitter cup, 

Let me from sorrow land. 



92 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



Dear Comforter divine, 
Let me but see Thy dice ; 

O, let me feel Thee mine ! 
(rive me a spark of grace. 

Great Burden-bearer, hear 
Thy creature's humble plea 

Dispel all doubt and fear, 
And set my spirit free. 

Ah, Lord, I tembling wait ; 

Fill me with love to Thee ; 
Let all my longing soul 

Bathe in the heavenly sea. 



THE LIFE IMMORTAL. 

(a deaf mute.) 

At pearly gates of life immortal, 
She lay, all spotless pure and white, 

Waiting the summons to the joy supernal, 
Waiting the messenger enrobed in light. 

Just at the breaking of eternal day, 

Resting in peace for heaven's light to dawn, 

She sees earth's clouds of darkness fade away, 
And catches glimpses of the golden morn. 

And now she hears, with new and strange delight, 
Soft angel-voices murmur low and sweet, 

" Come, sister-spirit, to our mansion bright ; 
Ascend the way prepared for sinless feet." 

Hears, too, the songs of holy love and praise, 
The dear ones gone before with triumph sing, 

Hears with a sweet surprise the hallowed lays, 
That through all Heaven the seraph voices ring, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 98 



And bending low, we catch the wondrous strain, 
As touched by gentle Death's white finger tips, 

Her soul set free, with Heaven's sweet refrain. 
Upon her happy spirit's unsealed lips. 



THE CLERK WITH THE EMPTY SLEEVE. 

He hasn't the air of a hero, 

Any more than his general— Grant, 

And he smokes like the torches of Nero, 
Quite as silent as Pharaoh's aunt. 

He doesn't ride much in a buggy, 

The chips are so wofully scarce ; 
His face is decidedly muggy, 

He thinks that the war was a farce. 

He starves on a meagre twelve hundred, 
Although he was valiant and true : 

He's an idea that Congress has blundered 
In refusing a dollar or two. 

He has hinted : they meekly donated 
Themselves an increase of the gold, 

While the clerks have been sweetly berated, 
Magnanimously left in the cold. 

He's a wife and six children already, 
And an elegant prospect of seven ; 

And although he's perfectly steady, 
He wishes them safely in Heaven. 

His wife has worn the same bonnet 
Since the year of our Lord sixty two, 

And as true as this poem is a sonnet, 
He doesn't know ust what to do. 



94 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



He hasn't the style of a hero, 

He's speechless as Pharaoh's aunt ; 

Though he smokes like the torches of Nero, 
And is proud of his General Grant. 

Vet he never can hope for promotion, 
Because he has no Alma Mater; 

He had a most singular notion 

His country would serve as a Pater. 

He can't tell you just how many mummies 
Were peppered in Pharaoh's time, 

And he doesn't know how many sonnies 
King Solomon had in his prime. 

So our empty-sleeved hero can smother 
His shame and chagrin as he can ; 

He never had Yale for his mother, 
And so he is under the ban. 



RESIGNATION. 



Beneath our hallowed cross of love, 

His easy yoke divine, 
With peace and grace fresh from above, 

How doth our pathway shine. 

Because He doth our burden bear, 

Because He loveth me, 
The sharp thorned crown we daily wear, 

It brings us near to Thee. 

Because He suffered stripes and pain, 

We suffer scorn and hate, 
Thro' faith and suffering we may gain 

An entrance through the Gate. 






StPFUGS OF ACACIA. y3 



Because we love our Lord the best, 

Beyond all earthly tie, 
He folds us to His mighty breast, 

When danger hovers nigh. 

Because His love indwelleth sweet, 

His banner o'er our head, 
We lie in peace just at the feet, 

Bathed with the tears we shed. 

We only through a mist of tears 

Behold the Master's face ; 
Smiling He our petition hears, 

And filleth us with grace. 

Sometimes upon our lowly head 
Descends His thrilling hand, 

The hand that raised us from the dead, 
Then doth our soul expand. 

She plumes her dazzling pinions white, 

Uplifts her hands of snow, 
And soars to realms of endless light, 

With glory on her brow. 

Sometimes He whispers, '•' Soul, be still, 

Behold their God is nigh, 
And murmur not, it is My will," 

Thy will be done, we cry. 

As when He took within His arms, 

The darling of our life, 
So full of sweet infantile charms, 

Our heart was full of strife. 

Until His voice said, soft and low, 
" Thy child is now mine own, 

And where the silver fountains flow, 
She liveth near My throne." 



96 SPRIGS OF ACACiA. 



So then we wait the joyful day, 
When our dear Lord will come- 

And lovingly and gladly say, 
Come, Master, take us home. 



"LA NYMPH DU PAVE." 

On the oaken floor of the station, there, 

The woman, an outcast, lay ; 
She is sleeping at last forevermore, 

This beautiful girl astray. 

Over her shoulders her radiant hair, 

Calm in the sapphire eyes, 
But colder than ice are the small white hauds, 

And still as the grave she lies. 

Yet tenderly chafing the frozen feet, 

A Cop, with a girl of his own, 
With a curse on his lip, a tear in his eye, 

" She was only a thing on the town." 



Vnother is holding the snow-flake hand 



s, 



He's rubbing the little palms ; 

Yet wan and pale as the marble lies, 

The girl in her ruined charms. 

They said, these men of the oaken clubs, 
That the girl was a maiden fair, 

That she loved a fiend in human form, 
And the beautiful girl lies there. 

Lies there with her broken heart at rest, 
Lies there with her blighted charms, 

Wronged and betrayed to her life of shame. 
Folded in Death's white arms. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 97 



They said, these fathers in coats of blue, 
That her mother was dead and gone, 

Her father got drunk and abused the girl, 
That the creature was all alone. 

And the fiend he told her a witching tale 

Of his love and protecting care, 
Of a peaceful home, as his honored wife, 

And the vision was bright and fair. 

And the maiden sweet, with the angel eyes 

Looked up in the smiling face, 
Looked, and was lost with her sinless soul, 

Fell from her holy place. 

Her peaceful home was the harlot's bower, 
Her love was bought with a price, 

But now in the station the outcast lies, 
Folded in snow and ice. 

She lay, they say, at her lover's door, 

'Twas a mansion grand and fair, 
Her sad, sweet face in her little hands, 

Dead, when they found her there. 

And the curses fell from their bearded lips, 

While the manly tears ran down, 
You would not think that the poor white thing 

Was only a girl on the town. 

Ah me, so pitiful, she was so beautiful, 

Sleeping in Azrael's arms, 
Lying alone on the station floor, 

This girl in her frozen charms. 

/ dare not say that the gate of pearls, 

To the heavenly home of peace, 
Was closed when her weary soul found rest 

And her spirit found release. 



98 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Her poor pale face is so full of calm, 
And the sapphire stars so bright, 

I think she saw her dead mother's face, 
A vision of love and light. 

And I think in the Lamb's white book of life 

Is her heavenly name all fair, 
The name that only our Father knows 

Of the outcast lying there. 

But the curse of a maiden's ruin lies 

At the foul betrayer's door, 
And the Angel Avenger is on his tiack 

Forever and evermore. 

Her body may lie in the Potter's field, 

And her memory fade away, 
But he ransomed soul in its robe of white 

Hath passed through the Gates of Day. 

Ah, men of the fetters and gloomy cells, 

Ye fathers in coats of blue, 
Even so as you pitied the poor dead girl, 

God's blessing shall fall on you. 



EMMANUEL— THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.' 

A CHRISTMAS POEM. 

One God, the Father, just and good ; 

One Lord, the Christ of Love ; 
Our spirits — holy, heavenly food, 

Descending from above. 

The Father, Son, aud Holy Ghost, 

The ever blessed Three, 
Unite to save the fallen lost 

From Death's dark, shoreless sea, 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 99 



Immanuel looks with pitying eye 

Upon His creatures frail, 
And listens to the orphan's cry, 

The widow's mournful wail. 

He hears the sobs of grief and pain, 

He wipes all tears away ; 
With gentle hand removes the stain, 

And points to realms of day. 

He binds the broken, cheers the faint, 
Revives the drooping soul ; 

His blood avails for sinful taint, 
And makes the spirit whole. 

He whispers peace to troubled breasts, 

Reveals his love divine, 
Within the heart abiding rests, 

May He not rest in thine ? 

Is there no joy on earth, we cry, 

When sorrow's sable pall 
Envails our spirits sunless sky, 

And shadows dark enthrall. 

Is there no Balm in Gilead found ? 

No kind Physician nigh ? 
While starless midnight drops around 

Her mantle as we sigh. 

And as beneath the awful gloom 
Our spirits watch for morn, 

Beneath the portals of the tomb 
The day begins to dawn. 

Break all thy bands asunder, soul, 
Our Christ hath left the grave ; 

Back, clouds of darkness, quickly roll. 
His powerful arm can save, 



lOO 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



He is the King, the conquering King ; 

He's vanquished Death and Hell ; 
Let all thy solemn soul bells ring 

Their deep resounding knell. 

No more for thee the starless night, 

Or shadow of the tomb ; 
Immanuel's day star, pure and bright. 

Dispelieth fear and gloom. 

For thee the Gospel's noonday light ; 

For thee the Palm and Crown ; 
For thee soft raiment, spotless white, 

God's smile and not his frown. 

To thee the Comforter will come, 

The holy heavenly Dove, 
And nestling make thy heart its home, 

Dwelling in perfect love. 

O hallowed presence, brooding peace, 

Come to our spirit shrine, 
And give our soul a sweet release, 

And make us all divine. 



" COSETTE." 

(FROM " LES MISERABLES.") 

Cosette, in the garden at night, 
Cosette, with her spirit in white, 
Her soul an enshrined retreat, 
A temple where cherubim meet. 

Enthroned in cerulean eyes, 
They smile with the sweetest surprise ; 
They are crowned with the gold of her hair, 
And kiss her pure forehead so fair. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 101 



They hide in the dimpling cheeks, 
Betrayed as she timidly speaks, 
With the lily-bells twining her neck, 
Her bosom with violets deck. 

They blush the white rose of her hands, 
Caress her small feet as she stands, 
They nestle like doves in her arms, 
In love with her virginal eharms. 

Cosette, in the garden at night, 
A vision of perfect delight ; 
Cosette: with her heart of a child, 
Cosette : with her soul undefiled. 



THE OLD CLERK. 



He has been a Department clerk, you know, 

During four-score years or more, 
And his scanty locks are white as snow, 

His pilgrimage well nigh o'er. 

Worn out in the service of Uncle Sam, 
This faithful and gentle old clerk ; 

He has slaved like a son of that kinky Ham, 
And never was called a shirk. 

And now he is failing, his eyesight poor, 

His purse is a slender one, too ; 
What will keep the wolf from his cottage door 

When lie labor he no more can do ? 

When a soldier no longer can a march endure 
He's retired with a. pension for life, . • 

But a faithful old clerk hath naught — to be sure 
Altho' lie has fought in the strife. 

7 



102 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



And a navy man, too, when done with the sea 

Is sure of his jolly half-pay ; 
Or a sailor's snug harbor is ready and free, 

With nothing to do — so they say. 

Perhaps 'twould be well for Congress to think 
That something was due the old clerk ; 

Just a mite of a pension for victuals and drink. 
When his fingers no longer can work. 



THE RUM FIEND. 

All along my path of roses 

Trails the hidden serpent's track, 

Blighting, blasting flowers of. beauty, 
Turning light to darkness black. 

Buds of promise doomed to wither, 
Lilies pure that bloomed to fade ; 

Youthful hopes and dear hearts broken, 
Gentle wives in death's arms laid. 

Bouyant sons and noble father, 
Lovers, friends and kindred dear, 

All the foul fiend's black arms gather, 
Heeding not the mother's tear. 

Father, brothers, sisters gentle, 
All the monster's clasp enfold ; 

Life and love, and all that's sacred, 
In Hell's burning cup are sold. 

Friends must perish, wives be murdered, 
Home and loved ones doomed to death, 

Hearts and hopes and spirits crushing, — 
This the riim fiend's withering breath, 



, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 103 



Do you wonder that I sicken 
Telling o'er the fearful tale ? 

Will you, dare you hug the serpent ? 
Think of gentle wife so pale. 

Think of all that nestle to thee ; 

Think of Baby, sweet and fair ; 
Think of little dark-eyed brother. 

Claiming all thy tender care. 

Think of loving sister twining 

Loving arms round thy manly breast ; 

Think of father's trusting blessing, 
Think of Mother gone to rest. 

Shall her eyes in Heaven be clouded 
By the tears that for thee fall ? 

Shall the father's heart be broken ? 
Wilt thou give the black fiend all ? 

Wilt thou break the heart that loves you, 
She who gave up all for thee ? 

Would' st thou rather clasp the demon ? 
Drown thy soul in night's dark sea? 

Never, never, He shall help thee,— 
He for you the ransom paid ; 

Break the chains of death that bind thee 
Look to Him ! He'll give thee aid. 

Vet I hear you saying alway, 
"There's no danger, I am free \ 

I can drink hell-fire in safety, 
I'm no drunkard, you will see. 

"I can drink or I can leave it, 
Where's the harm, I cannot find ; 

T am strong and young and sturdy," 
You can't see (lie fiend behind. 



104 SFRIGS OF ACACIA. 



Shining in the wine-cup's sparkle, 
Laughing in the foaming ale, 

Dancing in the whisky goblet, 
You can' t see the devil pale. 

Yet he's there, and soon you'll know it, 
Soon you'll feel his poisonous fang; 

You'll be stript of all that love thee, 
All in whom thy life's hopes hang. 

All along life's blooming pathway 
Miss I some dear friend that's lost ; 

God in Heaven, our hearts are broken,' 
Torn and weary, tempest-tost. 

Loving Father, save thy children, 
Smite the tempter with thy rod ; 

Stay this Dead Sea's raging waters, 
Lead us back to Heaven and God. 



EVERMORE. 



Evermore, my soul is dreaming 
Visions of the better land, 

And my spirit's eye is beaming, 
At the prospect fair and grand. 

iLvermore the world's false seeming 
Fadeth like the morning mist, 

For my soul hath seen the gleaming 
Of the radiant cross of Christ. 

Evermore my heart cease grieving, 
Lift thine eyes up to the hills : 

Be not faithless, but believing, 
Love hath balm for earthlv ills. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 108 



Evermore, my soul, be singing 
Psalms of holy peace and love ; 

Evermore thy joy-bells ringing, 
Chimings of the throng above. 

Evermore my spirit raising, 
Eye of faith and sinless hands ; 

Grieve no more, but meekly praising. 
Christ, thy loving pleader stands. 



PAUPER NANCY 



An old, old woman full of years, 
That knows no other home ; 

For thirty years of smiles and tears, 
A woman all alone. 

The world went out of Nancy's life 
When she was in her prime, 

And left her stranded on the sands, 
Wrecked on the shores of time. 

All thro' the patient years of pain, 
The days and nights untold, 

Poor Nancy waited for the time 
A new life should unfold. 

But onward still the gay world swept 
Adown the stream of life, 

And Nancy, in her refuge lone, 
Forgot its care and strife. 

A new and sweeter life within 

Began to blossom fair ; 
A life that's hidden from the world, 

That conquers pain and care, 



166 SPRiGS OF ACACIA. 



And so her longing, restless heart 
Found peace, and joy, and rest ; 

She found the loving Comforter, 
The holy, heavenly Guest. 

And in that love, exceeding far 

All earthly love or thought, 
Poor, patient Nancy lived again, 

And hopefully she wrought. 

No longer sadness, gloom and doubt ; 

No longer pain and tears : 
The Great Physician healed her wounds 

And banished all her fears. 

I tell you " Pauper Nancy's " rich, 

For naught can take away 
Her wealth of love and perfect trust, 

Her hope of endless day. 

Now " Happy Nancy " sits and waits, 

A smile upon her face, 
Her heart at peace with all the world 

And full of heavenly grace. 

And some glad morning she will fold 

Fler hands upon her breast, 
As daughter of the King of kings, 

Be throned among the blest. 

A glorious heritage all fair, 

Where poverty's unknown, 
Where her beloved Master reigns, 

A King upon a throne. 

Oh, precious, priceless gospel hope ! 

That banishes our fears, 
While the Beloved's sinless hands 

Dry all our sorrowing tears. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. iOT 



Like " Happy Nancy " — poor and lone- 
Dear Jesus, loving friend, 

Baptize our hearts in tenderness ; 
Lord, keep us to the end. 



THE "WHITE STONE." 

Hear what the " Spirit " saith to thee : 

If thou wilt overcome, 
Shall taste the " hidden manna," see 

See the shining gates of home. 

Hear what the " Spirit " saith to thee : 

I'll give a pure " White Stone," 
To him from thrall of sin set free, 

A " Name " no man hath known. 

Engraven on this crystal stone, 

His name of love and grace ; 
Fair name, no angel form hath borne, 

That bows before His face. 

Doth in our hearts the " White Stone " shine? 

Do Ave the " manna " eat ? 
Know we the sacred " Name " divine ? 

Are prostrate at His feet ? 

Doth " hidden manna " feed thy soul ? 

Filled all thy heart with love ? 
Chastened and pure the golden bowl ? 

Fit for the courts above ? 

Dear Master, seal us by Thy grace, 
Grant us the pure " White Stone," 

That we in peace may see Thy face, 
And know as we are known. 



ios 



SPRIGS OF ACAClA. 



HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP.' 

TO ANNIE ASLEEP IN JESUS. 



Asleep the dear one's seeming ; 
Her slumber hath no dreaming ; 
A holy whiteness gleaming 

Upon her placid face. 
No more the soft eyes beaming ; 
No more bright tresses streaming ; 
Only the sad eyes gleaming 

Over a vacant place. 

Under the flowrets lying, 
Never to love replying ; 
Only the zephyrs sighing, 

Never again to wake. 
Sad hearts that now are breaking 
For darlings never waking, 
Your grief and tears forsaking, 

The cup of sorrow take. 

Beside her green grave kneeling, 
Behold the sweet revealing 
Of faith and love the sealing, 

The place is hallowed ground. 
Hear now sweet voices singing, 
Hark how the notes are ringing, 
To thee a message bringing 

That grace and peace are found. 

" Behold, thy dead awaketh 
When earth's foundations shaketh ; 
When Christ the White Throne taketh, 

And Heaven cometh down." 
Bow low with holy feeling, 
And list to Love's revealing, 
This to this spirit sealing, 

For thee a fadeless crown. 









SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 109 

Dear hearts for lost ones breaking, 
That sigh for their awaking, 
This revelation taking, 

With joy and glad surprise. 
Your peace, like rivers flowing, 
Forever wider growing, 
God's Deeps of Mercy showing — 

God's Love that never dies. 



HIT." 



TO DR. MARY 



Of course if you know the Doctor, 

You know how it is yourself ; 
A meek little velvety pussie, 

As petite and sly as an elf. 

'Tis a sheep that has donned a wolf's garment. 

Endowed with a terrible growl ; 
A veritable goddess in trowsers, 

A being to make Romans howl. 

She is great on the question of marriage, 

St. Abby's her patronized saint, 
And the glorified lover of Nabbie, 

Immaculate, lived without taint. 

All wives, saith this woman of pellets, 
Come listen, and take my advice; 

" If the man that you love is a smoker, 
He's addicted to a horrible vice. 

" No right has this exquisite biped 

To puff an Havana all day ; 
'Tis a breach of politeness that severs 

The bands of the Church right away. 



iio SPRidS OF ACACIA. 



" No right hath this bifurcate either 
To toss off his sparkling champagne ; 

It is ground for divorce, I can tell you ; 
You never should stand it, that's plain. 

" What right hath a man to the breeches, 
Pray tell me, what right to his coat, 

Any more than a woman, I wonder, 
Or his beard, only fit for a goat ? 

" What right hath the creature to ballot 
Any more than the ladies. I say ? 

Denying the franchise to woman 
Won't bring the Millennial Day. 

" There's no doubt but a woman's superior 
In all the great points of a man ; 

Her intellect's keener and finer, — 
Deny it, base man, if you can." 

O, Doctor of Laws and of Physic ! 

The things that we thought were divine, 
You have keenly and slyly gone under ; 

Your preaching is drawn very fine. 

Fair Doctor, with velvety breeches, 
Nice pussie, with claws that you hide, 

Your law of affinity's moonshine 
By the law of divinity's side. 

I'm afraid, Mistress Dr., to meet you, 
Objecting so much to a scene ; 

And I tremblingly look for a challenge — 
To pellets and coffee, I mean. 

Expecting of course to be hit 
By a woman of periods strong, 

Aud being unable to stand it, 

Decline on account of the wrong. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. ill 



Of course you have heard of the Doctor, 
And know all about it yourself? 

A wee little velvety pnssie, 
As petite and sly as an elf: 



THE PSALM OF DEATH. 

I sing the psalm of the angel Death, 
Awaiting a mortal's latest breath, 
When the golden portals open wide, 
Or hell yawns black as souls cross the tide. 

He comes to the saint that smiling waits 
To enter with joy the city's gates — 
His seraph figure, in radiance white, 
Resplendent shines with a hallowed light. 

His face is gentle, with eyes serene, 
Pinions all burnished with silvery sheen ; 
His arms are strong — up the hidden way 
They bear the blessed to perfect day. 

He whispers a word to the dying saint ; 
Tis " come," and the last of earthly taint 
Drops off from the happy soul set free 
To breathe the air of eternity. 

He lifts the veil, and the mortal eye 
Sees in a vision a cloudless sky, 
The waving trees and the peaceful shore, 
The forms of the dear ones gone before. 

He heareth the paeons of joy and love 
As they wave their victor palms above ; 
The harps of the harpers cadence low 
The song of the spirits whiter than snow. 



112 



SPftlGS OF ACACIA. 



Death comes to the soul that sin hath bound. 
He speaks :-his voice hath a fearful sound ; 
" Prepare, O spirit, to meet thy God, — 
Bow down and kiss the chastening rod." 

" Even to the uttermost Christ can save ; 
Conquered is hell and the silent grave ; 
Only believe on the Father's Son, 
Softly he whispers, " Heaven is won." 

" I have no faith in your Lord that dies," 
Defying the infidel soul replies ; 
" There is no God, and fair Fature's shrine 
Is my altar of faith and hope sublime." 

" Thinkest thou so ?" the angel said ; 
" Is there no Judge of quick and dead, 
Who sendeth me, that speaks to thee, 
From the silent shores of eternity?" 

" Choose, for thy life is waning fast ; 
Choose ere the midnight hour's past , 
Choose for thy portion, Heaven or Hell — 
Peace : or the foul fiend's horrid knell." 



" I want no peace ; I want no God ; 
I do not fear an avenging rod ; 
I will not have your Christ that died, 
Living or dying " the soul replied. 

Shuddering the angel bowed his head, 
Softly his matchless pinions spread, 
" Man hath his choice, to live or die, 
To sigh in hell, or sing on high. 

" The angels fell from their high estate, 
And the pit of doom's their wretched fate, 
No loving Christ rose fron the grave, 
The mighty seraph's, lost, to save. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 11J 



'•' soul of man, how great thy choice- 
Ever to wail, or ever rejoice !" 
List to the psalm of Death, pale Death, 
Awaiting a mortal's latest breath. 



ALICE. 

Will I not ever cherish thee? 

Will I not ever, ever be 
Thine own true heart, eternally, 

Alice, ma belle ? 

Within thy soft cerulean eyes 
A spirit stray, from Paradise, 

Looks out with sweetest, glad surprise, 
Alice, ma belle. 

Amid thy amber tresses fair, 

About thy white brows, free from care, 
Within thy soft cheek's dimpled snare 

Sly Cupid smiles. 

This pearly-tinted, dainty hand, 
The tiniest snow-flake in the land, 

Wakes with its touch sweet music grand, 
A strain of love. 

The golden toy thy red lips kissed, 
The token of our lovers' tryst, 

Recordeth, dear heart, all I've wished, 
For thee, ma belle. 

Sweet eyes of heavenly depths of blue, 
The windows of thy white soul true, 

Arms that enfoldeth me to you 
With Love's embrace. 



114 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



Thou tellest me in language plain, 
How I may Paradise regain, 

Chanting to thee, my heart's refrain, 
Alice, ma belle, Alice, ma belle. 



CONSOLATION 



When surges roll beneath our feet, 
And trials hard to bear we we meet, 
To hear the dear Lord then how sweet, 
Repeating, " It is I." 

When sorrows blind our tearful eyes 
And all seems dark beneath the skies, 
And murmurs for our lot arise, 

Christ whispere, " It is I." 

When Death enfolds in his embrace. 
And God in mercy hides his face ; 
AVhen souls lie fainting for his grace, 
He murmurs, " It is I." 

Sometimes we fear and shrinking cry, 
" I tremble Lord, and fear to die :" 
Then doth a sweet voice softly sigh, 
" Soul fear not, it is I." 

Tho' all the fiends of hate arise 
To bar thy passage to the skies ; 
Tho' Satan claim thee for his prize 
Fear not, Immanuel's nigh. 

Even so our Master's royal hand 
Uplifts us to the glory land, 
And as we press the golden strand 
W r e nee Him face to face, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. US 



Even so the dear Lord gives to thee 
His pure, undying love all free, 
Methinks I hear him say to mc, 
"I love thee, even I." 



TRUST IN GOD.' 



In Washington, November 9th, 187 1, Mrs. Annie Szymanoski 
Smitiison, a graduare of the Columbia Institute, for Deaf Mutes 
of Washington, D. G, and Avife of Mr. William Smitiison, of the 
American Institute, in the 24th year of her age. 

The deceased was beloved for her many virtues, and her early 
death was greatly mourned by numerous friends. The author 
wrote the following commemorating her iast words, which were : 
" Trust in God. I am beholding the glory of Jesus." 

In that last hour of heavenly peace 

Her faith was stayed on God ; 
With filial love and grace divine, 

She kissed the chastening rod. 

" Going to live with the blessed Jesus, 
How beautiful the prospect seems ! 

No fears, no doubts, as shadows gather — 
Heaven's day-star softly beams. 

" Going to be with the loving spirits, 
Going to wear a robe of white ; 

Going to sing at last in glory, 
Going to wear a crown of light. 

•• No more sorrow, no more anguish, 
No more silent hours of gloom ; 

Now I hear angelic choirs, 

How their music fills the room ! 

" How my spirit, curbed and fettered 
In its prison-house of clay, 



11-6 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



Like a dove on snowy pinions 
Pants to rise and soar away ! 

" O ! how precious, now rejoicing 
In the love that found out me ! 

O ! how glorious, trusting, waiting, 
Jesus' face in peace to see ! 

" Hear you not His gentle accents? 

Listen ! though He whispers low, 
Yet./ hear each word of blessing, 

Hark ! He calls me, I must go." 



MON CHER AMI." 

TO " DELL." 



I love him for the happy smile 

Illumining all his face ; 
I love him dearly, without guile, 

Sweet friendship's royal grace — 
Mon cher Ami ! Mon cher Ami ! 

I love him for his golden heart, 

Foreshadowed in his eyes ; 
Bright stars of peace, their rays impart 

The love I so much prize — 
Mon cher Ami ! Mon cher Ami ! 

I love him, as no other friend, 

Within my spirit's shrine ; 
I'll cherish him 'till life shall end,. 

With tenderness divine — 
Mon cher Ami ! Mon cher Ami ! 

He loveth me, as I love him, 
Like David's harp of gold ; 

His love illumes my spirit, dim, 
With strains of joy untold — 

Mon cher Ami ! Mon cher Ami ! 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 117 

PEACE AND LOVE. 

A. DENISON. 

The sun is sinking into rest, 

The day fades like a flower, 
And peace enfoldeth to her breast, 

Tho' clouds of night may lower. 

At peace with all the restless world, 

At peace with Father — God ; 
Love hath her snowy cloud unfurled, 

Sing soul, beneath the rod. 

There is no joy we may not share, 

No light we may not see ; 
There is a rest from toil and care, 

And peace brings rest to thee. 

How sweet to lie in love's embrace, 

To feel a calm within, 
To shadow forth a spirit grace, 

Unchecked by thoughts of sin. 

How can we ever live in fear 

Of shame or fell disgrace 
If we may always meekly bear 

God's image in our face? 

Our Master, let Thy power divine 

Possess and render pure ; 
Let heavenly light forever shine, 

And all our steps assure. 

So when we fall asleep in death, 

Sweet peace to cbse our eyes, 
Let love inspire our latest breath, 

And waft us to the skies. 



8 



118 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

"ALONE." 

Alone in this great world of strife, 
Alone to battle in the strife, 
Alone to conquer or to die, 
Alone my mortal life to try. 

No heart of love enfoldeth me, 
No hand of friend to comfort me, 
No beaming eye of sympathy, 
No refuge from the storm 1 see. 

Upon my head the storm doth beat, 
With brow uncovered, bleeding feet ; 
Alone ! oh, God ! I walk alone 
Beneath the shadow of Thy throne. 

So lonely, desolate, and dead, 
My pulse of joy forever fled, 
Alone ! alone ! in want and woe, 
Where can the outcast woman go ? 

So dreary is my life of sin, 
So full of torture all within, 
'Tis hard that I alone should wear 
The thorny circlet he should si are. 

Alone ! and once I'd wealth of love, 
A father's, mother's, brother's love ; 
All these I bartered for his sake, 
The angel fiend in human shape. 

Alone ! a woman lost to hope, 
In outer darkness dread I grope ; 
Alone I walk with aching feet 
The pavement of the gloomy street. 

He walks in light, with laughing eye, 
To win by his soft minstrelsy 



SFRICS OF ACACIA. 110 

Another maiden, sweet and pure, 
By hellibh art to sin's allure. 

Alone I live, alone to die, 
Forsaken, save by God on high ! 
Alone, yet not alone, oh, Friend, 
In Thee I trust. Deliverance send ! 

Alone? Oh, no ! I'm not alone, 
For such as I Christ left His throne, 
Alone? Thank God ! I'm not alone ; 
I cling to Him who did atone. 

For sin like mine upon the Cross, 
To cleanse his gold from every dross. 
Alone, yet not alone, I flee, 
Oh, Cross of Christ ! to thee, to thee ! 



THE FRIEND OF SINNERS, 

I know the Friend of sinners — 
Jesus, the Lord of life — 

Who walketh on the billows, 
And calms their raging strife. 

I know the Friend of sinners — 

Jesus, the crucified — 
He healed my soul's backsliding : 

For me he groaned and died. 

I know this Friend of sinners, 
Enthroned in love and light ; 

He clothed my soul with beauty— 
Of those who walk in white. 

I know this Friend of sinners ; 
I love him best of all ; 



120 SFRIGS OF ACACIA. 

He broke my spirit's fetters ; 
Freed me from sinful thrall. 

I love this Friend of sinners ; 

Within my inmost heart, 
Enthroned a king, he reigneth ; 

He'll never more depart. 

This precious Fnend of sinners, 
His love makes life so sweet, 

He lifts thy soul to heaven, 
While prostrate at his feet. 

He gives thee joy and comfort 
The world can never give ; 

Come, sinner, to thy Saviour, 
O look on him and live. 

I know he loves a sinner, 
Because he first loved me ; 

I know his arms are open, 
Dear wanderer, for thee. 

O, brother, sad and weary, 
Look up : Immanuel waits 

To soothe the pain and sorrow, 
Open life's pearly gates. 

Come to the Friend of sinners : 
Life's billows fiercely roll, — 

Believe, receive and trust him 
To save thy precious soul. 

He'll fold thee to his bosom, 
Wipe every tear away ; 

" Thy sins are all forgiven." 
Thou' It hear him sweetly say. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. Jfil 

He'll give thee grace and beauty, 

A spirit clad in white, 
A bving heart, so peaceful, 

A song of glad delight. 

Come to the Friend of sinners, 

Come rest in his embrace ; 
Receive his loving pardon, 

His kiss of peace and grace. 



IMMORTALITY. 



A life of self-denial, meekly borne, 
Humbly she walked before the Lord, 

Bearing the cross to win at last a crown, 
For her exceeding great reward. 

So sweetly closed that loving, gentle life, 

So peacefully she passed away ; 
The angels — Hope and Faith, and Light and Joy, 

Descended from the gates of Day. 

They clustered round her glorious couch of pain, 
Fanned with white wing the fevered brow; 

Whispered in murm'ring tones sweet words of love, 
And cadenced golden- harp tones low. 

Clothed the freed spirits in its robes of light, 
Clasped in her hand the victor's palm ; 

Circled her haloed hair with crown of stars, 
Chanting a heavenly hallowed psalm. 

Uj) thro' the unknown way to Glory's gate, 

Which opened wide its portals fair, 
They bore her ransomed soul to Jesus' feet, 

And, smiling, laid there treasure there. 



1 22 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

"PAST AND FUTURE." 

What is the past but dreams of night and gloom, 
The grave wherein cur earthly hopes entombed lie, 
The mournful blighting of the fairest flowers 
That blossomed in our path, so full of life's unrest? 
O dreadful past ! the record of our sinful deeds 
Is written on thy living scrolls with pen and flame, 
We never can forget ; our saddened hearts refuse 
To bury their own dead from out their shudd ( ring sight. 
O wretched past ! we think of thy recorded shame, 
Until our trembling lips are white with torture keen, 
And every sense within us throbs with anguish wild. 
Our eyes drop soul-wrung tears of sorrow ! deep within, 
The spirit's inner fane we mourn the bitter, bitter past; 
O God ! in Thy great love and mercy do we trust ; 
No other hope, no other help we ask, but Thee. 
In Thy strong arms our spirits are upborne, 
And through Thy mercy live the life renewed in Christ. 
His blessed hands poured out the oil and wine, 
Received us into his fair house of love supreme, 
Bound up the wounds. He cheered the weary heart, 
Laid us on His own spotless couch, and softly breathed 
The sweetest words on earth to man, " Thy sins are 

all forgiven." 
No more the dreadful past ! 'Tis blotted out with tears 
And blood He shed for thee on Calvary's night of pain. 
Live for the present, with the end in view, 
Work in His vineyard, tell to all the world 
That Christ hath power to forgive, and raise 
The dead in sin to all the life of God. 
O gloomy, gloomy past, we will not look to thee, 
But rather turn our tearful eyes toward the future good. 
We know in whom we have believed, and trust 
Our future to the loving Christ that healed 
Our broken hearts, and soothed the aching wound, 
Who whispered hope and joy when all was clouds of 

night, 
gweet hope in Christ that robs the lonely grave 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 123 

Of every horror, every doubt and fear. 

So that, we coming to the stream of D.-ath, 

Vress lightly its cool waves with eager feet 

To gain the other shore, to clasp the spotless hands 

Of loving friends that shine in white array. 

O blessed hope ! O gleam of perfect peace ! 

What were our Life, our joys, our deeds of love 

Without thy holy influence, strong and pure, 

Spanning our sinful past to sinless days of rest 

Within the happy gates of our immortal home, 

Lifting the future's veiling clouds of night, 

To usher in the g'orious heavenly light 

Of God's eternal day of rjst and love supreme. 



" A DREAM OF LOVE." 

TO ANNIE. 

The night came down without a cloud, 
Unveiled shone the pu re- faced moon, 

And all the swaying censered flowers 
Rang silver bells to Love's attune. 

Sleeping, I dreamed of her I loved, 
When life's fair morn my spirit woke — 

I lived again those happy hours, 
When on my soul the vision broke. 

Her dark soft eyes beamed full of love, 
The dimpled smile was just as sweet 

As when my heart's best hopes were laid, 
With all my love, at her dear feet. 

The rosy lip, the smooth white brow, 
The clustering wealth of shining hair, 

Her dainty jewelled fingers sno-v 
And form of grace and beauty rare. 



124 SPRIGS .OF ACACIA. 

My weary heart, oppressed with care, 
Pour forth my love's immortal strain, 

And from its ashes sprang to life, 
With all its joys and hopes again. 

And as I drew her to my heart, 

Her dark eyes shone with love divine ; 

The lips of bloom met mine again — 
Again these arms her form entwine ! 

Upon my breast the dear head lay, 
She was mine own — mine own again ; 

What joy, what rapture filled my soul — 
Sweet love- — pure love — the holy strain. 

Waking, mine eyes were filled with tears, 
Alas ! 'twas all a fading dream ; 

Yet, in my heart there burns a flame 
Like to the day-star's silver gleam. 



THE ROCK." 



Upon this Rock our God hath built — 
His holy Church of life and light, 
And all the furious storms of time 
Have beat in vain upon her towers ; 
Firmly she stands ; the ages passed — 
A train of pilgrims to that shore, 
Where all the mighty dead of earth 
Gather to wait the end of time. 
So hath she stood — so stands she still, 
So shall she stand on Christ the Rock, 
Until the Archangel's sounding trump 
Shall cause the closed lids of death 
To lift their veil of deepest gloom, 
Behold the judgment day of days, 
The Lord descending with a shout, 
While angels sing the harvest home. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 123 

Upon this Rock we build pur house, 

Our tower of faith and hope and love, 

On the Lord Christ — so strong to save, 

Amid the sorrows of our life. 

We are His temples, sacred, holy, pure; 

We are a temple of the Holy Ghost ; 

If through the consecration of our hearts, 

Our lives to service grand and true, 

By living faith we on the altar lay — 

Each idol of our fleeting life below. 

O Rock of Ages ! light of darkest night; 

We simply trust, and wait the coming morn : 

So brightly shines upon our spirit's shrine, 

Thine altar fire enkindled there. 

Would'st thou, dear soul, thy erring feet 
Rest in the shadow of the Rock, upreared 
Amid the desert of thy life's unrest ? 
Hasten to Him, thy spirit's refuge, sure. 
Christ is the only name beneath the sky, 
W T hereby a sinful soul with earnest faith 
Takes hold on God. For His dear sake — 
His well-beloved only Son of love, 
The Father looks with pity on our race, 
Receiveth us as sons and grants each soul 
A witness of his pardon, peace and grace; 
A witness to our hearts that love divine 
Hath sealed us for His children here, 
Upon our foreheads writes with pen and flame 
Our heavenly name, whereby in that great day 
It shall be known unto the Angels fair 
Who are the ransomed of their mighty Lord ; 
Who on His right and on His left must stand ; 
Who are the blessed saints that died in faith, 
And who despised the lowly Nazarene ; 
Who shall awake to endless joy ; 
And who to outer darkness goeth down ; 
Who shall forever live in glory bright, 
And who shall die the nameless second death. 



i23 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Fly for thy life, O soul beloved ; 
Fly to the' Rock ! 'tis cleft for thee ; 
Trust thy Redeemer's power to save, 
And crown with life and joy the weary ones, 
Who heavy laden cast their burdens down, 
Before His nail-pierced feet. 



THE CONVERSION OF "CANDACE," QUEEN 
OF ETHIOPIA. 

Uyon her golden throne, encrowned, 
The virgin queen in splendor shone, 

Her royal robe of purple hue 

Confined beneath a diamond zone. 

Her midnight eyes, with gentle light, 
Beamed softly as the evening star, 

Thick tresses rippling to her want, 
Entwined with jewels from afar. 

About her ebon brows of night, 

A coronal of gems and gold, 
Dark shining rubies, gems of snow, 

Of beauty rare, of price untold. 

She speaks, and music fills the air, 
Soft tones, so pure, so flute-like fell, 

She wonders why he cometh not, 
As sweetly chimes the evening bell. 

Behold ! he comes, her trusty slave, 
The eunuch, tall und shapely made, 

And as he bends his willing knee 

She bids him rise. The slave obeyed. 

Tell me what strange things thou hast seen? 
What news from fair Jerusalem ? 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 127 

Didst see the famous temple's towers? 
He took her robe and kissed the hem. 

Beloved mistress, I can tell 

Naught of the temple fair and grand, 
I'll tell thee of a wondrous thing, 

Crossing the burning desert sand — 



Reading out the Prophet, strange and dim, 
Behold a stranger smiling stood, 

He told me things I never knew, 
Explained the evil and the good. 

He told me of a man of God 

His brethren nailed unto a cross ; 

The Holy One, the Wise, and True 
Dying to save the world from loss. 

He healed the sick and raised the dead, 
He wiped the mourner's tear away ; 

He died, ?nd Nature, shuddering stood, 
The sun refused to shine that day. 

For he was God, to earth come down, 
That they who on his name believe, 

Might through his great atonement made, 
Immortal life and Heaven receive. 

And I believed that Jesus Christ 
Was the true prophet of the Lord. 

Nay, more ; the holy Son of God 
I have within, a great reward. 

Up rose the Queen from golden throne, 
And cast her royal robes aside ; 

From off her ebon brows of night, 
She tore the emblem of her pride. 



128 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

All these I lay with my poor self, 
At thy sweet Jesus' bleeding feet; 

My po.ver, wealth, and life beside, 

I lay them out there with worship meet. 

For well I know no human form 

Could suffer all that thou hast said. 
He was a God. I know it well, 
I too believe, be not afraid. 

Love is the lesson that He taught, 
And I to my proud race will show 

That Christ hath taught me truth divine, 
How well to live this life below. 

So spake Candacc, Ethiop's Queen, 
Her midnight orbs with tears aflow, 

As kneeling at the eunuch's feet 
They shone with holy fervor's glow. 

Upon her discrowned head he laid 
Baptismal waters gently there, 

While from his heart of hearts uprose 
To God, for her, a grateful prayer. 



A LA BISMARCK. 



Oh ! I love the prettiest girl in town ! 
Her hair and eyes are a Bismarck brown, 
And her dimpled face is a Bismarck too ! 
Bismarck the shape of her dainty shoe ! 

On her gay turban, of a Bismarck hue, 
r J here roosteth a Bismarck cockatoo ; 
And the tiniest hand, within my own, 
Is snugly encased in Bismarck brown. 



i 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 129 

A snow-white coat, with a Bismarck border, 
Bound to fit like a Cl special order;" 
With enormous buttons of Bismarck brown, 
And trimmed at the neck with a goosie's down. 

I looked in her eyes, of a Bismarck tint, 
That gaze on me with a Bismarck < quint ; 
I squeeze the hand of the Bismarck brown, 
And vow I'm the nobbiest cove in town. 

My arm doth encircle the Bismarck waist ; 
1 snatch from her Bismarck lips a taste ; 
And the matchless bust, if I may be bold, 
Is tinted " La Bismarck," — so I'm told. 

And, when I proposed to the Bismarck girl, 
She tossed the head with a single curl, 
While the softest hand, of a Bismarck brown, 
Cosily nestled within my own. 

O, I swear by the girl in Bismarck brown, 
That I'm the luckiest boy in town ; 
I'm the Bismarck beau of a Bismarck belle, 
A Bismarck moustached — bona fide swell ! 



THE LITTLE WHITE DOVE. 

Fluttering down the shining way, 
To our hearts came babie fair, 

Spotless from the realms of day, 
Violet eyes and silken hair. 

Sweet faced messenger of ligh f , 
Dimpled hands that point above; 

Making all our path so bright, 

Filling sweet, sweet home with love. 



130 SPRiGS OF ACACIA. 

Little White Dove from the skies, 
Nestling in our arms, abide ; 

Knit our souls in loving ties, 
Till we cross the peaceful tide. 

Rosy lips with breath of flowers, 
Haloed brow with beauty crowned 

Bud of hope from Eden's bowers, 
Naught like thee on earth is found. 



THE NEW BIRTH. 



'Twai night, and all was strangely still, 
The loving stars in Heaven shone ; 

All nature moved with one sweet will, 
His will, who did for sin atone. 

I heard a soft voice whisper low ; 

" Dear child of earth and sin look up; 
Thy tears of penitence that flow, 

Are godly sorrow's bitter cup." 

" Press to thy lips the healing stream, 
'Twill cleanse thy soul from sin's alloys; 

Drink deep, and in thy heart shall beam 
Redeeming love's pure tender joys. 

" For thee my tears on earth were shed ; 

I groaned and died that you might live! 
For you, no place to lay mine head, 

I can, and will thy sins forgive ! 

" I know thy weary heart is sad, 
That all thy life seems dark as night ; 

Let thy tears flow 1 the morning glad, 
Shall break for thee with golden light." 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 131 

A soft hand pressed my throbbing brow, 

Another wiped my tears away ; 
Within my heart with heavenly glow, 

Dawned the bright morn of endless day. 

Around my head a glory shone, 

Great drops of joy ran down my cheek ; 

On earth I was no more alone, 

Within me dwelt the Saviour meek. 

'Twas night, yet in my soul was day, 
For me the light of hope had broke ; 

Chasing the gloom and doubt away, 
To peace and love my spirit woke. 

Dear night of penitential tears, 

How bright thy tender memories shine ! 

How pure thy glowing star appears — 
Beaming with rays of love divine. 



EASTER MORN. 



All hail fair Easter morn, all hail, 
We crown thy brow with flowers, 

The asphodels of life and love, 
That bloom in Eden's bowers. 

All hail ! All hail ! The King's alive ! 

The King of earth and skies ; 
He hath arisen from the dead, 

And we shall like him rise. 

lie burst the bars of death and hell, 
And triumphed o'er the grave, 

He is the victor, crowned with life, 
All powerful to save, 



182 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

He is the glorious morning star, 

The joy of all the earth ; 
The heavenly choirs sung sweetest lays, 

At the Redeemer's birth. 

O glorious Easter morn, that woke 
A world to peace and love. 

O day of days, when angels fair 
Descended from above, 

And rolled the sealed stone away 
And sang the psalm of life, 

The melody of endless joy, 
The end of care and strife. 

He lvith arisen ! — Joy untold ; 

And lives for evermore. 
The King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, 

His life of sorrow o'er. 

The spotless lily's silver bells 

Chime softly on the air. 
They chant my soul, of endless life, 

The death of pain and care. 

They tell of life beyond the grave 
For thee, O soul of mine ; 

They sing so sweetly, songs of hope, 
Of peace and rest divine. 

That all the weary hearts of earth 
Lift up their drooping heads ; 

They shed a holy fragrance rare, 
About all dying beds. 

They tell of dear ones gone before, 
That on that shining strand, 

He'll give us back our dimpled babes, 
Our little household band, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 133 

And so we hail, with tearful joy, 

Thy coming, Easter morn ; 
Because our souls may wait in hope, 

The light of Heaven's dawn. 



AN EASTER PSALM OF LIFE. 

I love that tiny mound of green, 
Sweet babes within enfolded lie ; 

Beneath its tender bosom's sheen 
My rosebuds blossom for the sky. 

The loving leaves cling softly round, 
As if to keep my darlings warm, 

And thickly cluster on the ground, 
To shield my cherubs from the storm. 

The wintry wind is fierce and cold, 
And bitter blasts go shrieking by, 

Yet closer cling those leaves of gold 
Around the spot where loved ones lie. 

O golden leaves ! O bending trees ! 

'Neath the green sod I soon may rest ; 
Let thy soft mantle by the breeze 

Be folded o'er my quiet breast. 

And we asleep in Jesus rest, 
Until the Master bids us rise ; 

And fold my babes unto my breast, 
And meet Him in the opening skies. 

Because our Lord hath risen indeed, 
We know that we shall rise again, 

From earthly pain and sorrow freed, 
Without a spot or sinful stain. 

9 



134 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Christ of sorrows ! Christ of pain ! 

O Christ that died, our hope and trust ! 
As thou hast risen, we'll rise again, 

Although these temples turn to dust. 

So faith sings sweetest songs of love, 
And Hope uplifts our stricken hearts, 

Sweet peace descendeth from above, 
And all our doubting fear departs. 

And so I'll tune my golden lyre, 

And strike the chords of love and peace, 

Until He bids me come up higher, 
And gives my spirit glad release. 



DEATH. 

Amid the chorus of the angel throng, 
One lute-like voice, melodious, clear and sweet, 
Had power to charm the ear and heart of Him, 
The gentle, loving Son of God divine — 
A prince in mien, with locks of living gold, 
Shadowing the contour of His perfect face, 
In shining rings upon a lofty brow, 
As pure and gleaming, as the gate of pearl ; 
Soft lustrous waves upon his wings of snow, 
Long golden beard upon his mighty breast, 
A glorious angel, formed with matchless grace ; 
Arrayed in spotless garments of the skies, 
His splendid star- crowned head bent low before 
The heavenly glance of Jesus — Master, friend — 
Whose tender eyes of deep celestial blue 
Shed love upon the seraph singer sweet. 
O, voice of all my yearning heart, He said-, 
I choose thee for my messenger to man ; 
The loving cadence of thy music tones 
Shall whisper all my tenderness and peace 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 135 



To those dear souls I groaned and died to save; 
On thy broad breast their blessed heads shall lie. 
Within thy powerful arms their forms shall rest, 
And thy broad pinions, veiling now thy face, 
Shall waft my children to a Father's heart. 
Bright Death — glad messenger of life to man — 
I crown thee gloriously with light divine. 
That seeing thee, my earth-born sons of God 
Shall hail, with joy and hope, thy presence there, 
And welcome thee with garlands and with songs. 
Clasping thy sinless hands with beaming smiles,. 
And grateful tears of purest joy serene, 
Lean on thy tender heart the weary head, 
Kiss the pale golden locks that clust'ring fall, 
Look at thy heavenly pure-rayed orbs of light, 
Reflecting there my pity and my love. 
O, Death ! thy mission ends when all my souls 
Are gathered to my rest and home of peace ; 
Now hasten hence, unfold t heir radiant arms, 
Let thy great pinions waft thee to my earlb, 
That I may soon, unto my yearning heart, 
Enfold a ransomed spirit, '.potless, fair. 



WINCHESTER. 



Fraternally dedicated to the brave boys of the gallant Old 
Third Massachusetts Cavalry, by Comrade Samuel A. Wiggin. 



'Twas early morn, the rising sun 
Shone on the brave and noble band 

That marched right onward to the fray ; 
Defenders of th:ir native land. 

They fought beneath the Stars and Stripes, 
The " Union " was their watchword true ; 

Grim death for traitors to the flag, 

Of red, and white, and heavenly blue, 



\S6 SPRiGS OF ACACIA. 

The Johnnies fought like fiends of hell, 
The air was thick with shot and shell, 

Their hissing notes of sudden death, 
Were many a brave boy's funeral knell. 

Yet onward marched the Gallant Third, 
Into the storm of fire and death, 

Yet still their battle cry was heard, 

From gasping braves with dying breath. 

The boys in gray were piled in heaps 
Upon the field of strife and blood, 

While over parapets of dead, 

And through the smoking fiery flood ; 

Our braves pressed onward, till the rebs 
Fell back in dread and diie dismay, 

Before the bonny flag of stars ; 
The traitors turned and fled away. 

All day the battle flames of hell, 
Ascended o'er the reeking plain, 

And as the sun sank in the West, 
The bugles sound the charge again. 

And Custer's men in close array, 

Dashed onward straight and led the van, 

With foaming steeds and sabres gleam, 
The burning tide of battle ran. 

And close beside the horsemen brave, 

A wall of living, ruddy fire, 
Belched forth a storm of leaden rain, 

That sent alarm and ranic dire, 

Into the ranks of rebel hosts, 
Who terror-stricken fled away ; 

And thus the glorious fight was won, 
At Winchester, that famous day. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 137 

All hail ! Phil Sheridan the bold ! 

All hail to Custer, brave and true ! 
All hail to gallant Sargent too ! 

Who led the Third so nobly through ! 

We'll not forget another name, 

That all the boys love and revere, 
The name all covered o'er with stars, 

The noble Chickering, so dear. 

To-night, from battlements of Heaven, 

Perchance his spirit looketh down, 
Surrounded by his martyred braves, 

In shining armor — victor's crown. 

On pinions white with swords of flame, 

The glorious patriot host above, 
Are hovering round the boys below, 

God's messenger's of peace and love. 

Their souls went up to Heaven's gate, 

In chariots of smoke and flame, 
And all the bright celestial hosts 

On matchless wings of beauty came, 

And filled the air with harpings sweet, 
And rustling sound of snowy wings, 

Above the battle strife and roar, 
Their victor's song of glory rings. 

The memory of Winchester, 

Fills every breast with joy and pride ; 

All honor to the boys who live ! 
All honor to the braves who died ! 

And gathering round our Camp Fires bright, 
With gladness, mirth and joyous song, 

We rally 'neath the Stripes and Stars, 
The Union saved — our country strong. 



138 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

We swear to keep its glory bright, 

Its stars shall shine forever free ; 
All hail the flag ! my gallant boys, 

With cheers ! my comrades, three times three ! 



LITTLE BROWNIE. 

Little Brownie, maiden sweet, 
Dimpled hands and twinkling feet, 
Eyes of jet and waist so neat, 
Pretty Brownie fair. 

Little Brownie's midnight hair 
Falls about her shoulders fair, 
And she walks with such an air, 
Like a fairy queen. 

Pretty Brownie's dainty hands 
Holdeth me with loving bands, 
Neither gems, nor gold, nor lands, 
Just the maiden sweet. 

Little Brownie's gentle heart, 
Loves me, so we'll never part ; 
Cupid holds me with his dart, 
Pretty Brownie's mine. 

All mine own the lips of red, 
All mine own the dainty head, 
All mine own to love and wed, 
With a ring of gold. 

Waen the May-bloom blushes fair, 
Nestling mid her raven hair, 
At the great high altar there, 
Pretty Brownie, sweet. 



SFRIGS OF ACACIA. 1 9 

Pledges me her happy vows, 
Orange blossoms round her brows, 
Now the May-bloom sweetly blows, 
Parted never-more. 



FAUST AND MEPHISTOPHELES. 

His life was drawing to its close, 
The night of shadows near ; 

And yet he found no calm repose — 
His heart was full of fear. 

" Ah, life, sweet life, too swiftly flies, 

With all its joys and fears ; 
A life renewed— what dreams of bliss, 

Bereft of sorrowing tears ! 

" To live another life on earth, 

Beneath a cloudless sky, 
Replete with pleasure without pain, 

To hear love's softest sigh ; 

" To drain the golden-nectared cup 
The goddess' jewelled hand 

Holds lightly to my parched lips, 
Again with manhood stand ; 

" With all the fire and fever flood 
Of passion's glowing might ; 

With all my youthful heart aglow 
With love and love's delight ! 

" Ah, blissful life I may not know, 

Sweet visions of the night, 
I'd give my priceless soul to hell 

For love and love's delight." 



140 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

The fiend that tempts unwary souls — 

That evil power nigh — 
Heard the wild prayer for mortal life, 

The passion-laden sigh, — 

And whispered low, " All shall be thine, 

If thou wilt worship me, 
All that the world, the flesh, can give 

Of love and joy for thee. 

" A long, long life replete with bliss, 
And wealth, and love's delight, 

Thy days all filled with song and mirth, 
And pleasure rule the night." 

Faust heard the tempter's winning voice, 
And raised the goblet high, 

" I drink to thee ; I worship thee ; 
I cannot, will not die !" 

No more a tottering man bent low 
With age, and pain, and care ; 

Erect he stood, a matchless prince, 
And crowned with beauty rare. 

His dark eyes shone with heavenly glow, 

A rose-tint in his face, 
His silken robes but half concealed 

A form of manly grace. 

His voice was perfect melody, 

Entrancing to the ear ; 
A voice to charm a maiden's heart, 

And banish doubt and fear. 

A god-like brow, whose rippling waves 

Of flossy, sunbright hair 
Fell o'er an angel's face divine 

Of wondrous beauty fair. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 141 

Close by his side the tempter stood, 

A hideous thing of night ; 
" His soul is mine, his precious soul," 

He cried with foul delight. 

Faust lived his life of earthly joy, 

He drank his nectared wine, 
He won the love of Marguerite — 

A creature half divine. 

And then old age crept on apace, 

His Marguerite was dead, 
The waving locks of sunny gold 

Are silvered on his head. 

The fiend now whispers soft and low — 

" The time has come for thee 
To go with me, my vassal slave, 

Thy soul belongs to me." 

With horror creeping through his veins, 

Faust heard the dreadful call, 
And felt about his ruined soul 

The monster's horrid thrall. 

" Oh, God," he cried, on bended knee, 

" For Christ's beloved sake, 
Save, save from hell my trembling soul 

That all death's terrors shake." 

Within his hands the " Word of Life "— 

The book of truth and love — 
" Thy sacred promises I claim, 

Great Power enthroned above !" 

His prayer was heard — the tempter fie J 

With curses loud and deep — 
And ever thus our God of truth 

His covenant doth keep. 



142 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

And Faust, redeemed from Satan's thrall. 
Found rest and peace above ; 

And ever lives the Crucified, 
Still reigns the God of Love. 



THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER. 

I said, her soul is white and fair, 
This gentle maid with shimmering hair. 
I said, her heart is warm and true. 
Love sits enthroned in eyes of blue. 

When dimpled laughter rippling flows, 
Her cheek is like a blushing rose ; 
Red lips unfold their strings of pearl, 
The lassie is a bonnie girl. 

Her spirit walks in raiment white, 
About her brow a haloed light. 
The circlet of the Heavenly Guest 
Enshrined within her sinless breast. 

Her hands are ministers of love, 
Their touch hith healing from above ; 
A seraph speaketh with her voice, 
Its music saddened hearts rejoice. 

She makes the widow's heart to sing, 
Her loving ministrations bring 
All joy and gladness where she comes 
Illume the poor and humble homes. 

I said the maid is pure and fair, 
This dove-eyed girl with radiant hair ; 
Sweet angels guard her thro' life's way, 
Open wide the sapphire gates of day. 



, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 143 

The poet had a daughter fair, 
A blue-eyed maid with flossy hair j 
The Angel bore her soul away, 
And left us desolate that day. 

I think sometimes she's with us now; 
I think sometimes upon my brow, 
A little hand caresses light, 
1 hear the fluttering pinions bright. 

And so blue eyes and sunny hair, 
Like hers the pastor's daughter fair, 
Brings back our little maiden sweet, 
A vision from the golden street. 

All gentle maids with breast of doves, 
And violet eyes, the poet loves, 
Because within his spirit's shrine, 
The blue orbs of his darling shine. 



BEHIND THE BARS. 

A STORY OF THE STATION. 

Behind the bars a woman stood, 
Still young and once so fair, 

With pallid cheek and tearful eyes, 
That told of her despair. 

Upon her shoulders fell a cloud 

Of sunny, golden hair ; 
Her wasted form, the story told, 

Of pain and want and care. 

Her little hands, so wan and pale, 
Were clinging to the bars, 

While thro' a mist of bitter tears 
Shone eyes like violet stars. 



144 tf!H SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Her lips, once red as cherries ripe, 
Were white with pain and agony, 

Showing the small teeth gleaming there, 
Set with her shame and misery. 

They found her wandering on the street, 

That fearful, bitter night, 
Homeless and friendless and alone, 

A sad and piteous sight. 

Once she was lovely as the dawn, 

Not many years ago, 
Her lips were red, her heart was warm, 

With life's rich wine aglow. 

Her sweet blue eyes were pure and true, 

Her soul was spotless fair, 
Her spirit wore a robe of white, 

And life was free from care. 

All the dear friends of innocence, 
All the fond ties of youth, 

All that the hearts of maidens prize, 
Of loveliness and truth, 

Were folded to her virgin breast, 
With chords of silver strands, 

While father's, mother's, brother's love, 
Held her with golden bands. 

And yet to-night, behind the bars, 

A wreck upon the sands, 
Her star of life gone out in gloom, 

The outcast woman stands. 

And, as her fingers clutch the bars, 
She moans, and moans, and moans, 

Her heart is broken ; sobs and sighs, 
And piteous wails and groans, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 143 

Fill all the cell-room's horrid space, 

And touch one manly heart : 
The rough patrolman's tenderness, 

And pitying tear-drops start. 

Kind, gentle words, he softly speaks, 

And soothes her wild despair, 
And with a brother's clasping hand, 

Enfolds the fingers fair, — 

Stretched out thro' iron bars so chill : 

And then his Mother's prayer, 
" Our Father, who in Heaven art," 

Creaks on the midnight air. 

For Death is on her marble brow, 

And on her pallid cheek, 
Glares in her startled eyes of blue ; 

A tongue that cannot speak. 

And as he prays his little prayer, 

The Angel of God's grace, 
Touches her lips with fingers light, 

And smooths the careworn face. 

Her blue eyes shine with glorious light, 

A smile is on her lips, 
Her little wasted fingers, clasp 

The Angel's finger-tips, — 

And folds them to her aching breast, 

And all is peace and calm, 
For on the seraph's snowy wings, 

He bears the heavenly balm, 

That heals earth's sadness and despair, 

That soothes our every fear, 
That lifts the soul to realms of light, 

And dries each sorrowing tear. 



143 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

From out behind the iron bars, 

Her ransomed spirit flies, 
Out through the station's massive doors, 

Up thro' the starlit skies, — 

On wings of Faitli and smiling Hope, 
Convoyed by angels there, — 

The soul of one lost woman saved, 
By " Mothei's little prayer," — 

Ascends unto the gate of pearls, 
Heaven's open gate of rest, 

Where is no night, but endless day, 
The home of all the blest. 



SONG OF THE SLEIGH-BELLS. 

Jingle, jingle, jingle ! O, how we do go 
Over the white and dazzling snow ; 
Flashing and dashing with merriest glee, 
Laughter and gladness, happy and free. 

Out on the road, ye gods, what a pace ! 
Challenging all the fa^t nags for a race. 
Step along, Jenny, you never were beat ; 
And Jenny just picks up her dainty white feet. 

Jingle, jingle, jingle, the musical bells, 
All the fine ladies and nobby young swells 
Are out for a sleigh ride this glorious day, 
All muffled and ruffled they're dashing away. 

There is Jessie and Bob, with that 2-30 mare, 
And grandpa aud grandma, I vow and declare ; 
Laughing and chatting and feeling so gay, 
Out for a sleigh ride this beautiful day. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 147 

Jingle, jingle, jingle, their music is sweet, 
The chime of the bells and swift flying foe. 
There is nothing— no nothing, the girls like so well 
As a high-stepping nag and a dashing young swell. 

With a robe of gray squirrel tucked under the chin, 
How dearly they do love to see a horse win ; 
And the nobby young gent has a heaven below, 
As his trotter flies over the beautiful snow. 

One little gloved hand is hidden below, 
Another gloved hand has to find it, you know ; 
And the story is told and a lover ii won — 
The sleigh ride is over, my sonnet is done. 



NEIGHBOR ANNIE. 

My neighbor never speaks tome, 

Nor hears me when I say, 
" Sweet nighbor, is it well with thee — 

This is a pleasant day." 

She smiles a kind of tearful smile, 

Takes out a little book, 
And writes therein, " No words beguile 

" My ear," with saddened look ; 

" I cannot sing the joy I feel, 

I hear no music sweet, 
Yet nightly at mine altar kneel, 

To kiss the Master's feet. 

" I have no speech for words of prayer, 

I hear no human sound, 
Yet my petition's wafted there, . 

And blessing cluster round. 



148 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

" He hears, although these sealed lips 
Utter no thoughts of love ; 

It seems as if His finger tips 
Were reaching from above. 

"They touch my spirit's vocal chords, 
And heavenly harp-notes wake ; 

I hear the Saviour's loving words, 
That when on earth — He spake. 

" He whispers in my spirit's ear, 
Sweet words of joy and peace ; 

Ah, God alone my cry can hear, — 
Bid every murmur cease." 

My neighbor never speaks to me, 

And yet I hear her say, 
" My friend, all's very well with me ; 

He cares for me alway. 



AT THE SEA SHORE. 

In front the sapphire billows grand, 

Upon their crested breast, 
The homeward bound from foreign land, 

Ncaring the port of rest. 

Afar the isles of beauty float 

Against the summer sky, 
And ever and anon a note, 

The sea-bird's lonely cry. 

The waves fulfil His high behests, 

As on the silvery sand 
They dash their white and throbbing breasts, 

Expiring on the strand. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 149 

They chant a psalm of solemn sound, 

Or shout their Maker's praise, 
While choral anthems all around 

Old Ocean's surges raise. 

And thus we wait upon the shore 

Of Life's dark, restless sea, 
To rest at last forevermore 

In Heaven's eternity. 



"THE NEW DISPENSATION." 

There in the midst a fallen woman crouched 

With half-averted face of shame; 
S'nful, perhaps, yet penitent and meek, — 

Crushed to the earth her once fair fame. 

" Stone her to death, according to our law ! 

Stone her to death, the creature vile ! 
She's all unfit to live, polluted thing ; 

What say'st thou, Master without guile?" 

Tne Master stooped, and musing, wrote, 

Knowing full well the hearts of all ; 
The sobbing woman, prostrate at his feet, — 

The woman outcast by her fall. 

" Say, Prophet wise ; say, Teacher, good and pure, 
What is thy will ; thou knowest the Law? 

He lifted himself erect in virtue's might, 
They, listening, stood with fear and awe. 

" He that is spotless, he that hath no sin, 

Let him alone cast the first stone. 
Come, Pharisee, thou spotless one within, 

Shall she for her vile crime atone !" 

10 



ISO SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Ah, conscience whispered to each haughty soul, 
He knows thy secret, guilty heart ; 

Thou art not sinless ; false, poluted, stained, 
Hide thy proud faces and depart. 

" Daughter of Israel, who accuseth thee?" 
" Dear Lord and Master, none are here." 

He looked, and with a gracious smile, 
Bade her look up without a fear. 

And then from out the lips that spake no guile, 
The pitying words of comfort fell : 

" Neither do I condemn thee, frail and weak, 
Go sin no more, with thee it thai! be well. 

" Go, sin no more, and in my kingdom wide, 
For thee a mansion beauteous and grand, 

A hou;e not made with hands, a spirit home, 
Where all is peace — the summer-land. 

" Go sin no more, for thee a robe and crown ; 

Go, daughter, sin, oh, sin no more ; 
Uplift thy stricken head, wipe off thy tears; 

Thy night of anguish now is o'er." 

So the dear Master calleth now to thee, 
Thou precious, wandering soul astray ; 

Thy sin in His atoning blood is lost, 
His Gospel opes the Gates of Day. 

Ah wounded spirits, soiled and saddened souls, 
Where'er ye wander from thy early home, 

Go sin no more, return and live again ; 
Christ loveth thee, — no longer roam. 

Let Pharisees and haughty souls despise, 
Reproach and bid thee to atone ; 

The gentle Saviour's test will silence all, — 
" Who hath not sinned, first cast a stone." 



SFRIGS OF ACACIA. 1SI 

" IN HIS BOSOM." 

TO THE MEMORY OF "LITTLE MAUDE " AND " BABIE 
ADA." 

Lambs of the flock all spotless, pure, 

They lived their summer day ; 
The fairest, dearest of the fold 

1 he Shepherd takes away. 

He knows the pathway for their feet, 

The dangers that beset, 
And with all tenderness and love, 

He soothes our heart's regret. 

" Thy little lambs I've gathered home, 

Safe to my bosom press' d 
They live again, and thou wilt meet 

And clasp them to thy breast. 

" Why mourn est, mother, for thy babes, 

Not lost, but gone before ? 
Why w r eepest, father, for thy dead, 

Safe on the heavenly shore ? 

" Thou hast no need for bitter tears; 

They know no pain or care ; 
And in their home of light and love, 

The fairest of the fair. 

" When weary, lonely, poor and sad, 

They'll hover round thy way, 
And in thy dreams thou' It meet again 

And join them in their play. 

" About thy neck shall softly twine 

The tender arms of love, 
And tiny hands with pressure light 

Shall draw thy soul above. 



152 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



" Wipe off thy tears, lift up thy head, 
Lean on thy Master's breast ; 

Take up life's cross and thorny crown, 
Until He bids thee rest." 



THE HAPPY NEW YEAR. 

Hail, all hail, the New Year's birth ; 
Hail with gladness, joy and mirth ; 
Farewell, year of hopes and fears, 
Willi your train of smiles and tears. 

Welcome, New Year's happy day ; 
Sorrow's night has fled away. 
Morning dawns with hallowed light, 
Day with hope and love beams bright. 

All thy bridal garments fair, 
Coronaled thy gleaming hair ; 
Peace enthroned in thine eyes, 
Radiant glory of the skies. 

Full of blessings are thy hands, 
See how pure she, smiling, stands ; 
Love and tenderness and rest, 
Folded to her virgin breast. 

Now, methinks, her voice I hear : 
" I'm the happy, glad New Year ; 
Bride of Time, transfigured, grand- 
Born to bless the weary land. 

" Weary of the Old Year's cares, 
Weary ot the load she bears, 
Gladly lays her burden clown, 
To receive my vestal crown. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 133 

" Born to bind the bruised heart, 
Born to sunder bonds apart ; 
Born with healing on my wings, 
Love and joy ray advent brings." 

Born of His unchanging love, 
Gift of grace, sent from above ; 
Lift the heart, bow low the knee, 
Thanking God, New Year, for thee. 



THAT KITTERY BOY. 

Who thinks himself a full grown man, 
And longs to drive a pony span, 
Who maketh all the noise he can ? 
That Kittery Boy. 

Who laughs and shouts the livelong day 
Enough to scare the crows away, 
Chock full of life and fun and play ? 
That Kittery Boy. 

Who says his prayers hind side before, 
Who always slams the kitchen door, 
Who pities all the children poor ? 
That Kittery Boy. 

Who teases all the pretty girls, 
And yanks their sunny silken curls, 
Then laughing shows his teeth like pearls ? 
That Kittery Boy. 

What boy delights to go to school, 
And tries to keep each tiresome rule, 
Who does the master call " no fool?" 
That Kittery Boy. 



134 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Heaven bless that jolly Kittery boy 
And fill his life with love and joy, 
And pleasures that shall never cloy ; 
Dear Kittery Boy. 



A MATIN HYMN. 

When morning lifts the veil of night, 
Resplendent with its stars, 

And blushing dawn with fingers light, 
The gates of Day unbars. 

The soul unfolds her snowy wing, 
And soars to realms above, 

While all the spirit song-birds sing, 
The harmonies of love — 

Floating above the clouds of earth, 
Ascending heavenly heights ; 

And in that new celestial birth 
Tasting supreme delights. 

The spirit, bathed in depths of grace 
Vouchsafed thro' Jesus' blood, 

Enfolded in the rapt embrace, 
Sinks 'neath the ciimson flood. 

The heart with rapture full and sweet, 
Unburdened, light and free, 

Bows down at our Immanuel's feet, 
Pure from the crimson sea. 

When morning lifts the veil of night, 
All jewelled o'er with stars, 

My spirit, filled with love and light, 
Bright glory's gate unbars. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 133 



A SONG OF THE NIGHT. 



" Now, chillen," said gentle Aunt Sally, 
" Come, listen, I'll sing you a song ; 

'Bout de time when I sperienced religion, 
Down South, whar I used ter belong. 

One night as I lay in my cabin, 
Alone wid myself and de Lord, 

I jess heerd de angels a singing, 
A hymn of the sweetest accord. 

'Twas all about Jesus and glory, 

How he died on de cross fer pore me ; 

And dey sang de most beautiful story, 
How de soul of a slave could get free. 



Dey sang of de bressed Redeemer, 

How He sits on dat shiny white throne, 

And shows his bruised hands to de Fader, 
An' crieth \ My blood doth atone.' 

Dey sang how He, full of compassion, 
Came down from his mansion above ; 

An' wandered a pilgrim and stranger, 
To show us de Fader's great love. 

An' a voice in my spirit's ear whispered 
He pleads an' He suffered for thee. 

An' I felt my ole heart big wid sorrer, 
De Massa had died for pore me. 

An' it done broke my heart, little chillen, 
An' my spirit was bruised and sore, 

Wid my soul full of pitiful anguish, 
I lay on my ole cabin floor. 

An' I cried to de crucified Saviour : 
My Jesus, hev mercy on me ; 



136 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Blot out my transgressions forever, 
An' let me have pardon in Thee. 

Now listen, my chillen, and wonder, 
While I tell you a marvelous thing ; 

I done felt a soft hand on my shoulder, 
As d> angels of glory did sing. 

An' listening, I heard a voice saying : 
' Go daughter, in peace ! sin no more. 

While my soul full of heb?nly glory, 
Crossed ober to Canaan's shore. 

An' eber since dat, little chillen, 
My brack hand in Jesus' own, 

I trabbel dis worl' full of sorrer, 
But I do/it hab to trabbel alone. 

De Massa, yer know, little chillen, 
Lubs best de wee lambs of de fold ; 

Jess carries dem all in His bosom, 
More precious dan silver an' gold. 

An' He lubs all de brackest of chillen, 
As well as he lubs de white lambs ; 

Cos His heart is dat full of compassion, 
An' laden wid blessings his hands." 



" DAISY." 

I know a winsome, laughing girl, 

With dimple cheek and teeth of pearl, 

Sweet eyes of azure limpid blue, 
So loving, gentle, pure, and true. 

She wins her way with modest smiles, 
Despising beauty's artful v. il :s ; 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 137 

Her soft bright hair entwines a face 
That's full of dainty lines of grace. 

Her lithesome form in beauty swells ; 

Within her lovely bosom dwells 
A heart of gold so fresh and pure, . 

All other charms foil to allure. 

Her snowy hands and matchless arms, 
Enfold a thousand nameless charms ; 

Who wins her love, his life to bless, 
Shall meet a true wife's fond caress. 

O, Daisy ! gentle, laughing girl, 

With rosy lip and dancing curl, 
May thy pure soul, white as the dove, 

Win e'er for thee true hearts to love. 



A CHRISTMAS GLORIA. 

Bells are ringing — happy chimes ! 
These are Merrie Christmas times. 
Santa Claus is bonnd to come 
Into every joyful home. 
Folded hands and soft eyes bright 
Waiting patiently for light. 

In their places, full in sight, 
Hang the stockings, red and white ; 
Little Tot's is hung there, too, 
All in waiting. Saint, for you. 
Childish faith and vague delight 
Bud and blossom thro' the night. 

Often in the dark they wake; 
Happy dreams their slumbers break ; 
Seeking vainly thro' the gloom 



138 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Sign that Santa Claus has come ; 
Then the day-star of the morn 
Wakes the glorious Christmas dawn. 

Angels hailed with glad delight 
AJ1 the Sons of God in white, 
Shouted, " Glory ! peace on earth," 
At the Babe of Bethlehem's birth. 
Shepherds heard the loud refrain, 
Heaven resounded with the strain. 

Unto you, this blessed morn, 
Christ, the King of kings, is born. 
He shall conquer Death and Sin, 
He shall all earth's kingdoms win. 
Strike the harp and lift the voice, — 
Sons of men, rejoice, rejoice ! 



THE DEATH OF EMERSON. 

Now at the open gate of heavenly rest 
His spirit waited for the break of day. 
The journey o'er, the last white mile-stone passed, 
His weary feet press Beulah's flowery mead. 
About his pathway, thro' that happy land, 
Their fragrance and their beauty fair, 
With many-fruited trees of love and hope, 
Bending beneath their precious treasures sweet; 
Whereof if any man shall eat he may not die, 
But live forevermore at God's right hand. 

So, passing through that lovely vale of peace, 
Lo ! the beloved poet, seer and sage, 
Feedelh his soul upon the heavenly food, 
And life and joy and hope and peace remain, 
So journeying thro' that happy Beulah land, 
After life's fever of unrest and toil, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 139 

Searching for nature's holy, hidden shrine, 
His aged feet have found the blessed path 
That leadeth straight from nature to her God. 

And so with God revealed through nature fair, 
He found the life immortal, hid in Christ, 
And gladly leaned his weary, aching head 
Upon the one Grand Master's loving breast, 
With hand enclasped, with perfect trust 
He walked upon the cool, dark waves of death ; 
Whose tossing billows at His " Peace, be still " 
A sea of glass became before their feet. 

So that great soul passed from this mortal life, 

Unto the life immortal ; life forever more. 

Bowing his peerless soul to nature's God, 

He humbly worshipped and adored 

The Great All-Father, through His works divine. 



EASTER LILIES. 



How sweetly breaks the Easter morn, 

The light upon the way, 
The dawn of life, the doom of death, 

The glorious Gospel day ! 

Now faith, and hope, and joy divine, 

The Easter lilies bloom, 
And shed their holy incense rare 

About the Saviour's tomb. 

Now lift the heart and bend the knee ; 

Let anthems loud proclaim 
The matchless grace and mighty power 

That live in Jesus' name. 



160 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Ah, mourning soul, bowed down beneath 
Thy weight of sorrowing care, 

Lift up thine eyes unto the hills, 
Put on thy garments fair ; 

And sing, aye, sing, that Christ hath risen- 

Arisen from the dead ; 
Let thy sad heart with gladness thrill, 

Thy tears of joy be shed. 

Forevermore in beauty bloom 

The Easter lilies white — 
Thy peaceful soul all sweet and pure, 

A garden of delight. 

For underneath the spreading palms 
Of grace, and truth, and love, 

There walketh in the cooling shade 
The God-man from above. 

And thou shalt hear His tender voice, 

And all thy life be glad ; 
Shalt feel the pressure of His hand, 

And nevermore be sad. 

Ah, doubting heart, dismiss thy fears ! 

Ah, troubled soul, be still ! 
Know that thy sorrow and thy tears, 

And every earthly ill, — 

Uplift thee to thy heavenly home ; 

And round the lonely tomb 
The blessed Easter lilies fair 

Exhale their sweet perfume. 

And on their wings of faith and hope, 

With love and joy divine, 
Transfigured, all pure souls ascend — 

In blood-washed raiment shine. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 161 

Dear, silvery, chiming lily bells, 

Thy music low and sweet 
Fills all my soul nrith happiness ; 

I kiss the Master's feet, — 

And lave them with my joyful tears 

And precious ointment rare, 
The alabaster casket break — 

Its fragrance fills the air. 

For incense of a loving heart, 

A spirit all in white, 
A tender soul, with simple faith, 

Are precious in His sight. 



"AVE JESU."— A Legend. 

In the olden time, when the Moors 

Fought the haughty old Dons of Spain, 
The Saracen hated the Cross. 

And Christ that for sinners was slain, 
There lived an old Saracen knight, 

Who had won for himself high fame, 
Shone on his brow the curved crescent, 

Gleaming bright with a golden flame. 
Grand the noble old face, and dark 

As midnight the deep eyes of jet ; 
Gentle as love, the smile that played 

Round the lips of the warrior yet. 
In his heart there blossomed a flower, 

And a Christian had sown the seed. 
White as the clove's pure breast of snow, 

Or his spotless Arabian steed. 
No words from the lips of the saint, 

Could the knight in his mem'ry hold, 
Save "Ave Jesu," Christ my Lord, 

More precious than Orphir's fine gold 



162 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Shrined the words of the martyr saint, 

Sweet "Ave Jesus " filled his heart, 
" Ave Jesu," his anchor of hope, 

'Tvvas his faith and the better part. 
When dying his lips breathed his prayer : 

Dear " Ave Jesu," Son of God, 
Saved through faith in Jesus his Lord, 

He slept 'neath the emerald sod. 
Poets tell of a wondrous flower 

That sprang up on the dead knight's grave; 
White lily of Faith, it blossomed 

From his lips with power to save. 
On its calyx pure as the snow 

Sh^ne " Ave Je;u," traced in gold, 
" Ave Jesu," dear Lord, the prayer 

Of the gallant knight of old. 
Our heroes sleep in honored graves, 

The roses and violets bloom, 
Green grass waves o'er the sacred dust 

We've enshrined in the silent tomb. 
Yet their deeds still live in our hearts, 

And their memories frebh and green ; ' 
In death they speak, though lips are dumb, 

And their forms are no more seen. 



A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM. 

" Safe in the arms of Jesus," 

Through the crowded horse-car rang ; 

" Safe in the arms of Jesus," 
The little lassie sang. 

Sang with the voice of a seraph, 

" Safe on His gentle breast, 
There by His love o'ershaded, 

Sweetly my soul shall rest." 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 168 



The people sat and listened 
To the tender song of love, 

Voiced by the little maiden, 
Like a message from above. 



't> v 



And the song of the bonny lassie 
With the rippling golden hair, 

Lighted a soul from darkness, 
Banished a load of care. 

" Safe in the arms of Jesus ;" 
Rang through the crowded car, 

And a heart returned from straying — 
A prodigal from afar. 

" Safe in the arms of Jesus," 
And the song of the seraph sweet 

Severed the bonds of a spirit — 
Led him to Jesus feet. 

" Safe in the arms of Jesus," 

The lassie sang again ; 
And the people sat and wondered 

At the sweetness of th3 strain. 

And many a heart o'erburdened 
With anguish, doubt and care, 

Touched the white hem of His garment, 
Led to the Master there. 

And a Magdalen in the corner, 
Leaned on His gentle breast ; 

With a new-born hope of heaven, 
Entered the promised rest. 

An old man bent and broken 
With the weight of many years, 

Gave her a saintly blessing 

Through a mist of happy tears ; 



164 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



For his soul " in the arms of Jesus, 
Safe on his gentle breast," 

Looked through the open portals 
Into the land of rest. 



SISTER ANNIE. 

Young and so beautiful. 
Sweet and so fair, 

Gone to the Master 
Just over there. 

Loving and lovely, 

Beloved by all, 
Pure as the lily, 

Heard the glad call. 

Now on His bosom 
Leaneth her head, 

Anguish and sorrow 
Evermore fled. 

Now with the angels 
In mansions of light, 

Liveth forever 

In robinffS of white. 



Young and so lovely, 
Yet lovelier far 

With glory supernal 
Death cannot mar. 

Yes we shall meet her 
When life is o'er, 

Over the river 

On Canaan's shore, 







SPRIGS OP ACACIA. 163 



CHRIST, THE HIGH TOWER. 

COMPOSED IN THE DOME OF THE TOWER OF WINTHRCP 
STREET M. E. CHURCH, BOSTON. 

Hi is th3 R)ck on which we build, 

Our Tower of Faith and Hope and Love ; 

The refuge for our saddened souls 
Until we reach our home above. 

Uplifted far above Earth's cares, 

The clear blue sky of heaven o'erhead, 

The world and sorrow 'neath our feet, 
And naught to fill our souls with dread. 

In Him, the peace of God abides, 

And all the air is perfect rest ; 
A hallowed calm without, within, 

A loving shelter on His breast. 

Around us His puissant arm, 

The canopy of love o'erhead, 
The tender smiling of His face, 

The gracious, wounded hands outspread. 

From all the storms of life we flee 

To our high tower, the faithful Christ ; 

And safe and sweet our refuge dear, 
Above all earthly clouds and mist. 

The world looks very small, when Faith 
Looks down from her high tower above ; 

And all earth's joys and sorrows fade, 
Amid the glory of His love. 

In Christ, the Tower, the heavenly Dove 
Buildeth her nest with fluttering wings ; 

With gentle broodings of the Spirit sweet, 
Her psalm of peace and joy she sings, 

ij 



160 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Tower of strength, O risen Lord, 

Glad haven for the stricken soul 
When fierce and loud the tempest roars, 

And all life's surging billows roll. 

Our beacon on the shore of time, 
O'er the dark, dreary waves afar, 

Thv gleaming glory shineth clear, 
Like to the rays of Bethlehem's star. 

And as the shepherds followed on, 
To where the Saviour sweetly lay, 

So following light, all souls may come, 

Through Christ, the Tower, to heavenly day. 



THE CHRIST-CHILD. 

The stars shone soft and bright, 
The moon with lambent light, 
Looked down on Bethlehem's plain ; 
Earth sang a glad refrain. 

As down the path of light, 
Sweet angels all in white, 
With jewelled harps of gold, 
A song of joy untold. 

Came on their pinions bright, 
A vision of delight, 
Chanting with voices sweet, 
The Christ-Child haste to greet. 

He comes, he comes to earth, 
The babe of Kingly birth, 
The Father's only Son, 
Hath left His j-i c per throne, 



SPRTGS OF ACACIA. 167 

To save the world from loss, 
Upon the cruel cross, 
With thorny crown of pain, 
And Calvary's sad refrain. 

They're singing still to-day, 
Where silvery fountains play, 
And palms of beauty rise, 
Beneath the cloudless skies. 

And when the moon's soft beams 
A radiant glory streams, * 

Adown the heavenly street, 
Descend the angels sweet. 

Their song : " A life eternal, 
Of joy and peace supernal, 
Your Christ shall come again," 
Their holy happy strain.. 

The Child-Christ comes to-day, 
Where little children play ; 
He comes with smiles of love, 
With gladness from above. 

And where his presence bides, 
No darkness e'er divides 
Our eyes from his dear face, 
Our hearts from heavenly grace. 

The Christ-Child lives again ; 
The shepherds of the plain, 
Who hailed bright Bethlehem's star, 
Have seen the gates ajar. 

Yes ; through that open gate, 
Where all our dear ones wait, 
With Heaven's unclouded sky, 
The King comes by and by. 



168 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

LENT. 

Weep and lament for the sinful days, 

Tears for the laughter gay, 
Weep and lament for the nights of joy 

Led by the passions astray. 

Drop the white hand of the siren fair, 
Turn from her charms away ; 

Kisses no more for the red wine's cup — 
Tears and lamenting to-day. 

Take off the roses from beauty's brow, 
Think of the days gone by ; 

Think of thy suffering, tempted Lord, 
Hungering and ready to die. 

Tempted and tried by the evil one, 
Burdened and faint and lone — 

Sorrowful days, dark nights of gloom — 
Weep for thy sins and moan. 

All the long days and wearisome hours 
Longing and starving for bread ; 

All the sad tears of the weeping night 
Falling upon His head. 

Weary and burdened, forsaken of all, 
Strong in His Father's might, 

Triumphed at last o'er the powers of hell- 
Over the fiends of night. 

Now the sweet angels, in shining bands, 
Thronging the golden street, 

Hasten on pinions of love divine — 
Kissing the bruised feet. 

Wipe off the tears of the weeping night, 
Comfort and life impart, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 169 

Heavenly manna the seraphs bring — 
Peace to the burdened heart. 

Weeping and fasting, we turn to Thee, 

Spare us, good Lord, we cry; 
Full of compassion, thou suffering One — 

Jesus enthroned on high. 

Weaiicd and grieved with our burden of sin, 

Father of mercies so free, 
Turning to Thee with our sorrowful hearts — 

Turning, dear Lord, to Thee. 

So may the angels of peace and love, 

Wiping our tears away, 
Point us to mansions of light and joy — 

Heaven's unclouded day. 

So may the arms of the loving Lord, 

Fold thee unto His breast ; 
So may thy heart with a filial love, 

Enter into God's rest. 

Tenderly, lovingly, tru-tingly there, 

Abba ! my Father, cry, 
Pardon and peace and the song of joy — 

Angels are hovering nigh. 



SAIDEE. 

There's a tiny form at my knee, 
And a dimpled white hand in mine, 

'Tis the curls of my pet Saidee, 
That softly my fingers entwine. 

Her gentle blue eyes up to mine, 

Are turned with their heavenly light, 



170 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Reflecting the radiance divine, 
Of her spirit so pure and white. 

She's a waif from the land of love, 
Astray •from the seraphs' sweet bowers, 

Come down to our home from above, 
To lighten this dark world of ours. 

She came to our hearts like a ray, 

Of sweet hope from the world unseen, 

She came like the flowers of May, 
Enrobed in their silvery sheen. 

And we know that the dainty hand, 
That's enfolded within our own, 

Will evermore lead to the land, 

From which her bright spirit hath flown. 



HOPE. 

Hope is the lovely b idding flower 

Of Faith's o'erarching tree; 
Hope is the w r aking of the power 

That sets the spiri; free. 

Hope is the loss of every doubt 

That clouds the inner eye ; 
Hope is the light of life ; without 

Our faith would droop and die. 

Hope is the anchor of the soul 

When clouds of sorrow rise ; 
Hope can pale Death's fell power control 

And raise us to the skies. 

Hope is the " Gift of God " to man- 
Hope saves him from despair — 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 171 

Hope takes away the curse and ban, 
And lightens every care. 

Hope, wakened in the sinner's heart, 

Dispelleth all his fears, 
It shows to him the better part — 

Hope wipes away his tears. 

Hope is the christian's life and stay ; 

With " Hope in Jesus " blest, 
Our ransomed spirits soar away 

To everlasting rest. 

Then fix your anchor far above 

In realms of heavenly light, 
There Hope is lost in wondrous love, 

And Faith is crowned with sight. 



"FAITH." 

A little child in downy nest, 
Dreaming its baby dreams, 

Angels watching its peaceful rest, 
Till dawn of daylight beams, 

Awoke from sleep in darkest night, 
Called softly, " Mother dear, 

I cannot see, there is no light, 
Say, mama, if you're here." 

" O, yes, my babe, I'm by thy side, 
Now close thy soft, bright eyes \ 

God's loving care for thee provides 
Sweet angels from the skies." 

Folding its dimpled hands in rest, 
The little child replied, 



172 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

" I cannot see the angels blest, 
A watching by my bide." 

So in our night of doubt and pain, 
Mid darkness cold and chill, 

Our spirits bound in sinful chains, 
Discerning naught but ill ; 

See not the angel by our side, 
Nor hear the harp-toned voice, 

But in the hour of fame and pride 
In earthly things rejoice. 

But Faith reveals to mortal eye 

The angel form of Love, 
Who points to realms beyond the sky, 

To Christ's sweet home above. 

And souls not having seen, yet hope 
By Faith to gain that shore, 

No more in doubt and darkness grope, 
They trust forevermore. 



THE WHITE CROWN. 

Dedicated to the memory of the late Kev. B. F. Wiget, Pastor of 
St. Aloysius Church, Washington, 1). C. 

A holy priest, and in his gentle arms 

A little maiden — sinless, pure and fair, 
The tiniest lamb of all the Master's fold, 

With violet-tinted eyes and shimmering hair. 

Within his sacred hands a snowy crown, 
With rose-buds and the lilies of the blest. 

With accents low, and full of heavenly love, 
He blessed the smiling babe upon his breast. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 173 

And on her golden rings of silken hair, 

That clustered on a forehead white as snow, 

He laid the spotless wreath of innocence, 

And pressed the kiss of peace upon her brow. 

It was the school's commencement ; happy day, 
A hundred little maidens, robed in white, 

Had all been wreathed and decked in ribbons fair, 
Tneir dimpled faces beaming with delight. 

The golden medals of the blessed cross 

They wore upon their pure and sinless breasts, 

While on their sweet and girlish features now 
The beauty of the guardian angel rests. 

It was a lovely sight, and from on high 
The saints and seraphs of the holy throng, 

Leaned o'er the golden battlements of Heaven, 
And swelled the chorus of the happy song. 

The tiny maiden with the locks of gold 
Now wears a wreath unfading on her brow. 

The soft white arms that clasped the pastor's neck 
Enfold with love the blessed angels now. 

The little feet once clothed in satin sheen, 
The silver sandals of the ransomed wear ; 

Her soft bright eyes of violet glory, now 

Reflect the shining image of the Master there. 

Upon her forehead, gleaming like a star, 
The mystic name, the sinless spirits bear, 

Unknown to mortals, is the sacred seal, 
The Lamb's insignia of Heaven fair. 

Some day the .golden gates shall open wide, 
At the light touch of baby fingers white; 

When the dear father at the dour shall knock, 
All his sweet lambs in glorious raiment bright — 



174 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Shall gather round and kiss his blessed hands, 
And lead the way with happy songs of love, 

Unto his Master's tender, loving breast, 

Unto his long-sought home of peace, above. 



Now the good shepherd of that earthly fold 
Hath entered thro' the pearly gates ajar. 

Upon his heavenly crown of gems and gold, 
The little maiden's soul — a radiant star. 



IMMORTALITY. 



" Thy brother sleeps, he is not dead," 

So the Redeemer spake, 
Wipe off thy tears, lift up thine head, 

Thy loved one shall awake. 

Thou mournest not bereft of hope, 

He sleeps on Jesus' breast, 
He closed his eyes, in bliss awoke, 

Crowned priest among the blest. 

There, where the vernal fields are fair, 
Where flowers immortal bloom, 

In shining mansions, free from care, 
Beyond the dreary tomb. 

With those he loved, who've gone before, 
He treads the streets of gold, 

And waits upon the blessed shore 
For thee, with love untold. 

Though thou shalt miss his gentle care 

And kiss of love so dear, 
His spirit form with radiance rare 

Hovers around thee here. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 173 

In dreams thou 'It meet his beaming eye, 

And hear his gentle voice, 
" I'm waiting sister dear — on high, 

Thou shalt with me rejoice." 

"I'll lead thee where bright waters flow ; 

Thro' Eden's bowers rove, 
And at His feet in worship bow, 

Who saved us by His love." 

Then wipe thy falling tears away, 

Thy faith, on seraph wing, 
Shall waft thee to the Gates of Day, 

Where chimes of life-bells ring. 



THE BABY OF THE PINAFORE. 

O, he is the lad to screech and rquirm, 
This bouncing boy all so plump and firm, 
With his fat white legs on the kitchen floor, 
For there hardly ever was such a boy before 
To kick like a JLck, and yell for more ; 
He's the darling little baby of the Pinafore. 

In a naughty fit, it is such a shame, 

He's worse than the party, not polite to name ; 

But when he's dressed in a bran new suit 

He looks like a baby who could institute — 

Yes, instantly toot so loud a roar ; 

He's the precious little infant of the Pinafore. 

He's a nice little boy with a fighting grip, 
The tom-cat ?nd he hath a partnership; 
That union sweet with the cat I ween, 
Is the cutest that ever was seen. 
You never saw such a child before, 
The precious Utile baby of the Pinafore. 



176 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

He'll ask so pretty for a bran new cent, 
He ought to be a member of Parliament ; 
He'll parley-vous you out of your boots, 
For he's an infant of the institutes ; 
There hardly ever was such a boy before 
As this knowing little baby of the Pinafore. 

Now, babies all, whoever you may be, 
If you want to be king of the nurserec, 
You must always remember this golden rule : 
The old folks wise you must always fool ; 
If they rage and storm, you kick aud roar, 
And you'll always be the baby of the Pinafore. 



"IDOLS." 

Within our hearts some idol sits enthroned, 
Swaying our very being by its power ; 

Binding, with all its loving strength, its chains 
Around the soul in passion's witching power. 

One idol shines in pearls and bright array, 
Another's crowned with golden tresses fair; 

And still another steals our hearts away 

With sweet blue eyes unshadowed by a care. 

One idol is a laughing, dimpled babe, 

That leans its soft cheek on its mothei's breast ; 

And as she sits and sings the angel comes 
And wings her da. ling to the land of rest. 

One idol is a precious, faithful friend, 

For him we scatter garlands fre^h and sweet, 

Upon pure Friendship's altar bright, 

And cla-;p the dear hund whensoe'er we meet. 






SF RIGS OF ACACIA. 



Look in his eyes, and see his heart shine out — 
Heart that we covet, full of treasures rare; 

Heroic soul — so manly, brave, and strong — 
Loving aid tender, lightening every care. 

One iJol claims our every thought and deed, 

Wraps round his hideous shoulders, hope and joy 

Clothes his black features with deaitful light — 
Barters our short life for a golden toy. 

Another idol rules and reigns wiihin — 

Dear, darling Self — complacent, sways supreme ; 

And honor, fame, and all that great souls win, 
As nothing to his narrow vision seem. 

" No other gods before me," sakh the Lord, 
" All others are but dross and brittle clay ; 

Their altars burn with an unhallowed fire, 
Before My righteous anger melt away." 



" ADA." 

Lady of -the sweet daik eyes, 
Shedding smiles of joy : 

Pure and gentle, kind and good, 
Gold without alloy. 

Form of beauty — graceful, fair, 
Fragile as the flowers ; 

Spotless as a 1 II v bell — 
Born in Eden's bowers. 

Loving spirit — modest, mild- 
Tender hearted wife ; 

All thy charms are but a part 
Of thv sinless life ! 



178 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

"THE MOTHER'S LOVE." 

I lay me down in quiet rest, 

Praying the little prayer, 
I learned upon my mother's breast, 

When life was budding fair. 

I feel the dear hand on my brow, 

As in the days of old ; 
And one by one the tear-drops flow, 

Musing of love untold. 

Kneeling, I think of all her care, 

Again I am a child ; 
No wreath of fame my pale brows wear, 

I hear the loved voice mild. 



I see the dark and lustrous eyes, 
That shed such love on me — 

Around my neck, what most I prize, 
White arms caressingly. 

The tender lip, the soft pale cheek, 

I see before me now ; 
Sweet words of love the red lips speak — 

The dear head bending low. 

Presselh against my bearded face 

The flossy auburn hair, 
Whose rippling wealth of flowing grace 

Sheddeth a halo there. 



Ah ! well I know if not on earth, 

Unto my waiting heart, 
I'll fold her there, who gave me birth, 

Never again to part. 






SFRIGS OF ACACIA. 179 

Around my soul the tendrils cling 

Of memory's wreathing chain ; 
Within my spirit sweet birds sing 

A joyous glad refrain. 

Their music charms the weary heart, 

Lifting the soul above : 
No power from me can ever part 

My mother's changeless love ! 



THE POET'S CROWN. 

The poet lifts his eyes to heaven, 

And sees within the veil; 
Beholds the land of life and love, 

Where is no mourner's wail. 

He looks beyond this world of woe, 
With eyes of faith and love, 

Unfolds the pinions of the soul, 
And soars to heights above. 

He sees with eyes of spirit power, 
The soul's fair home of light, 

And all his yearning heart goes forth. 
With all its loving might. . 

There is no death, he joyful cries, 

But life forevermore ; 
There is no pain or sorrow known 

Upon the other shore. 

His spirit quits this mortal shrine, 
With kindred souls communes, 

And to the music of the spheres, 
His golden harp attunes. .. 



ISO SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

And to its soft tones sweet and clear, 
lie chants a song of love, 

A psalm that lives forevermore, 
That seraphs sing above. 

And the glad notes of thrilling power 
Fall on the saddened heart, 

Like dew upon the fading flower, 
And blessed tear-drops start. 

All souls that lie at Sorrow's gate 

List to the joyful sound, 
And catch a glimpse of paradise, 

With ever verdant plains. 

And like a heavenly benison, 
The music of the spheres, 

Lift; the sad soul 0:1 wings of faith, 
And dries the falling tears. 

The poet lifts his eyes above, 
For joy and peace and rest, 

And maketh for his happy soul, 
A heaven within his breast. 



ARIDA OSS A. 



My spirit strayed from its earthly home, 
And I dreamed a vision rare — 

Wandering the world of death alone, 
Viewing the dry bones there. 

Countless they seemed in their silver sheen. 

Skeletons whitened and bare — 
Lovers and maidens, of what had been, 

Only the glittering hair, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 181 

Fingers unclasped from the clinging fold 

Of the hands once warm and fair, 
Arms that enfolded in love untold, 

Wearied of life and its care. 

There was the baby's unshrouded form, 

The mother's beside it lay, 
Jeweled with gold of the bridal morn, 

Awaiting the Judgment Day. 

Methought, as I gazed, the Spirit came, 

And the dry bones lept and sang, 
A psalm of triumph, with tongues of flame — 

The air with their peans rang. 



TO THE BRIDE. 



Fair bride, with tender eyes of blue 

And shining amber hair, 
Thy sylph-like form in white array, 

A dream of beauty rare ; 

How shall the poet sing thy praise, 

Portray thy gentle charms, 
The loving heart, the spotless soul, 

Enfolded in thine arms ? 

For thou wert ever fond and true, 

A pearl without a price, 
All sweet and gentle, kind and good, 

A gift from Paradise. 

They love thee most who know thee best, 

Because within thine eyes 
The glory of a pure white soul — 

The be auty of the skies — 

12 



182 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Shines forth, with love and tenderness, 
Enshrined in azure deeps, 

A temple for the seraph sweet 
Who faithful vigil keeps, 

O'er all the pathway for thy feet, 
Along life's changeful way, 

To lead thee safely home at last, 
Up to the gates of day. 

We ask for thee a wedded life 
Of love and peace and joy, 

A home of gladness and delight, 
Where pleasures never cloy. 

A husband, gentle, kind and good, 

The lover of thy youth, 
His heart thine own, a precious gift 

Of tenderness and truth. 

Sweet bride, with soft cerulean orbs, 

And rippling amber hair, 
A long life and a happy one 

For thee, without a care. 



A REVELATION. 



Now have I found the holy peace, 
The rapt and perfect calm, 

Now hath my heart believed — at last 
Hath found the healing balm. 

What joy, what rapture, what delight, 
What love and rest divine ! 

Now doth my spirit, glad and free, 
In spotless raiment shine. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 183 

Washed in the all-atoning blood, 

How doth my heart rejoice ; 
How doth the soul with lifted head 

Her heavenly comfort voice. 

Now do I know the blessed One 

In whom I have believed, 
Now hath my spirit, white and pure, 

Her radiant crown received. . . 

And He will keep me to the end 

By His own power and grace, 
So at the dawning of the day, 

I'll look on His dear face. 

Upon my head His loving hand, 

My head upon His breast, 
Safe in the home of glad delight — 

The land of joy and rest. 

It is no dream ; my bounding heart 

Is full of bliss untold ; 
Now doth the future clear and bright 

Her mysteries unfold. 

She lifts the vail that I may see 

Where in the glory land 
The little lambs of our own flock — 

A radiant, happy band — 

Are safe within the heavenly fold ; 

All safe ; I know they wait ; 
He will not let them wait in vain 

The opening of the gate. 

He will give back into our arms 

The babes we loved so dear, 
For now my heart hath not a doubt 

Or shadow of a fear, 



184 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Because He hath revealed His face, 
And poured the healing balm, 

My bonded spirit hath release, 
My soul her perfect calm. 

Ah, precious love within the heart, 
Thy flames of heavenly grace 

Are kindled with the incense rare 
Of the most holy place ! 

For as the golden censer swings 
Before the Master's feet, 

Amid the clouds my Saviour's face- 
A revelation sweet. 



THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 

They went into the country, 
The Mayor and his suite ; 

The crows did caw a welcome, 
And Barney's horn did toot. 

The oxen hauled them over, 
In gay and festive style, 

As from the railway station, 
They moved in single file. 

The Mayor's team was stunning, 
A wagon old and gray, 

His steed, a pretty bossy, 
Bedecked with trappings gay. 

Up to the pleasant homestead 
Where the kind host was born, 

There came a strange procession 
That charming July morn. 






i 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 183 

The bonny flag waved proudly ; 

The birds sang sweet and clear ; 
A Pratt-ling voice just warbled ; 

Come get your lager beer. 

The Aldermanic stomach ; 

A ihing of fearful size, 
Then entered into glory, 

On beans and berry pies. 

The table groaned with dainties 

Of every name and clime ; 
But baked beans took the medal, 

With brown bread every time. 

The pretty fairies flitted 

From kitchen to the hall, 
And kept the feast agoing, 

With happy smiles for all. 

The gobbler with amazement, 

Walked straight into the hall, 
And said in words of welcome, 

Ye gobblers gobble all. 

The crow came into dessert, 

And lighted his cigar, 
Then stuck it in his little bill 

And soared away afar. 

The tenor of the party, 

Sang " Balm of Gilead " sweet; 
The chorus of male voices, 

Had " Balm of Gilead feet." 

There was no end of laughter, 

And joking was the rule ; 
You'd think the jolly company 

Had just got out of school. 



1S6 SPfllGS OP ACACIA. 

'Tvvas simple, sweet and hearty, 
This happy flow of soul ; 

Its memory will be cherished 
Tho' years may swiftly roll. 

The homestead wide and spacious ; 

The distant mountain grand ; 
The fair and vernal meadows ; 

The peaceful household band. 

Again a band of brothers, 
Beneath the old roof tree, 

Clasp hands with love so loyal, 
A joyous company. 

The flag that waved in beauty, 
Beneath the tall elm tree, 

All blending like a picture, 
Shall live in memory. 



THE BELLE OF THE BALL. 

Ah, the beautiful " belle of the ball," 
Soft dark eyes of a witching thrall, 
Silken. fringes that droop and fall, 
Veiling their lustre bright. 

Ah, the loveliest form I ween, 
Robings of silvery satin sheen, 
Daintier feet, no, never were seen, 
Slippered in silken light. 

Ah, the tiniest dimpled hands, 
Gleaming with pearls and diamond band?, 
Star of the evening, she smiling stands, 
A vision of beauty bright. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. . 187 

Delicate brow of the seraph's fair 
Waving of lustrous rippling hair, 
Eyes unshadowed by aught of care, 
Beautiful belle of the ball. 

Lovely and sweet in her glory bright, 
All that the poets dream of delight, 
Spirit enfolded in garments white, 
Gliding with airy grace. 

Who is so charming with laughter sweet, 
Who is so graceful with dainty feet, 
Hearts all adoring her presence greet, 
Captive she leads the throng.' 

Beauteous creature of queenly sway, 
Roseate cheeks where the dimples play, 
Wonderful eyes where the seraphs stray, 
Robed in their heavenly light. 

Tell me, doth Love in his beauty bright, 
Dwell in thy bosom with soft delight, 
Shine in thy lustrous orbs of night ! 
Flushing thy scarlet lips ? 

Is it dear Love that veils thine eyes, 
Priceless treasure, the maiden's prize, 
Rapturous visions and rosy skies, 
Beautiful belle of the ball ? 

Hid in the coils of thy gleaming hair, 
Down in the depths of the dimples fair, 
Love in his radiant beauty rare, 
Revealeth his laughing face. 

Down in the deeps of thy star eyes bright, 
Love with a glory of glad delight, 
Robeth thy spiiit in spotless white, 
Beautiful belle of the ball. 



188 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

"HOPE'S RETREAT." 

HAMILTON CAMP GROUND, MASS. 

Within the cool green everglade, 
Where the sweet wild bird sings, 

And all the fragrant air is swayed 
By gentle zephyr's wings, 

There stands a little cottage fair 

Beneath the hemlock tree, 
And all the world of hope and joy 

Within that cot for me. 

There in the forest grand and dim, 

The psalm of life they sing, 
And with seraphic music sweet 

The vernal arches ring. 

There waiting souls in rapturous awe 
Look up with faith and love, 

And showers of grace and peace divine 
Descendeth from above. 

There sinful hearts in Jordan's stream 

Wash all their guilt away, 
The ransomed spirit spreads her wings 

And soars to realms of day. 

Beneath those trees of healing balm, 
On wings of prayer and praiSe, 

Ten thousand tender, loving souls 
Their happy voices raise. 

They sing the songs their fathers sang 

Within the tented grove, 
And as they swell the chorus high, 

The air is full of love. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 189 

And down the golden ladders come 

Bright legions, spotless fair, 
The spirits of the perfect just 

With palms and haloed hair. 

They cluster round the altar there, 

Where burdened spirits moan, 
And whisper Tow these living words, 

" Christ sitteth on His throne." 

Then the " new earth " from heaven comes down, 

And a white soul is won, 
A ransomed spirit sings for joy, 

The spotless robe puts on. 

And hope pours out her wine of life 

In jeweled chalice fair, 
While heavenly hallelujahs rise 

Like incense on the air. 

Ah, hallowed grove, what memories dear, 

What tender, loving ties 
Unite our hearts with golden cords, 

Uplift us to the skies ! 



TINA BELL. 



Tina ! Tina ! laughing sprite, 
Violet eyes of glory bright ; 
Little darling ! heart's delight ! 
Pretty Tina Bell. 

Witching face of love and youth, 
Roseate lips of budding youth ; 
Love, because you must, forsooth, 
Little Tina Bell. 



l£0 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Do I love thee, Tina Bell ? 
Droop thy head, I'll softly tell 
How I worship thee, " Ma belle "- 
Blushing Tina Bell. 

Lean thy form upon my breast, 
May it there forever rest ; 
To a heart of truth 'tis prest, 
Darling Tina Bell. 

Thoughts of love my bosom swell, 
But my lips refuse to tell 
How I prize thee, Tina Bell, 
Happy Tina Bell. 



THE PRODIGAL SON. 

Out on the mountains all barren and cold, 
Away from the Shepherd, and out of the fold, 
He wandered alone in the desert so wild, 
Forgetting the Father's great love for His child. 

His heart was bowed down with a burden of care, 
His spirit enchained in the spoiler's fell snare. 
Forsaken and weary he wandered alone, 
Forgetting the father and dear ones at home. 

Then unto his soul came a whispering voice, 
" Look up, burdened spirit, take heart and rejoice, 
For the Quickening Angel, with message of love, 
Hath descended for thee on the wings of the Dove. 

" No more shalt thou wander forsaken, alone; 
Return to thy father, thy kindred and home ; 
He will place on thy finger the ring of his grace ; 
Thou wilt evermore live in the light of his lace. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 1SI 

" He will fold thee with tenderness unto his breast ; 
His tears are the tears of a father at rest, 
Rejoicing o'er him that was lost and is found, 
His son, the poor prodigal, ruined, discrowned." 

Then the prodigal started to find his way home, 
No more as an outcast and stranger to roam ; 
And the father baptized him with tears of his love, 
And gave him a soul, with the breast of a dove. 

And now he is joyous, his spirit is free ; 
He hath bathed in the water of Life's purple sea. 
His soul with her longings for heaven divine, 
In raiments of beauty doth spotlessly shine. 

She sings, this white soul, with a fulness of love, 
She lifteth her brow to the heavens above, 
And all the sweet songs of the glorified blest, 
Are ringing forever within her pure breast. 

She is crowned with the stars of His mercy and grace, 
She has such revealings of Jesus' dear face. 
With white hands enfolded, her pinions at rest, 
Adoring and loving, she leans on His breast. 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

Out of the depths of mire and clay, 
Out of the pitfall of death and hell, 

Out of the drunkard's lonely grave, 
Out from the prisoner's weary cell. 

Out from the torture of brain and heart, 
Out from the slavish, galling chain, 

Out of the darkness into light, 

Out from the thraldom of want and pain. 



193 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Firm on the rock are his falling feet ; 

Clasping his own are his brother's hands ; 
Round him the friends of the lost of earth, 

Holding him fast with their loving hands. 

Out from the grogshop of horrid thrall, 
Out from the doom of the hopeless lost, 

Out from the maniac's padded cell, 

Out from the depths of the tempest-tost. 

Out from his wretchedness, shame and woe, 
Out from the path for the drunkard's feet, 

Into the sunlight of peace and joy, 
Drinking the waters of Eden sweet. 

See, in his hands is the crystal fount ! 

See, now he drinks of the healing stream! 
See how the flush of his manhood's pride 

Beams in his eye with a radiant gleam. 

Nevermore tasting the wine cup's brim, 
Nevermore wasting his toilsome gain, 

Nevermore want and his children's tears, 
Nevermore sorrow, and care and pain. 

Evermore plenty, and smiles and joy ; 

Wife and children around him cling ; 
Evermore music and home for him, 

" Father, Dear Father" the song they sing. 

Gathering round him with laughter and joy, 
They cling to his hands, they lie on his breast ! 

The sweet little wife, with smiling content, 
Singing a song with her spirit at rest. 

Out of the gloom of the drunkard's night, 
Husband beloved, hath come to his own, 

Her heart is so light, her spirit is free, 
Father is saved, and she's no more alone. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 1G8 

This is }he work of the Temperance Reform, 

This is their mission, to save the lost; 
Honor the noble and faithful band, 

Rescuing from ruin the tempest-tost. 

Down in the depths where the drunkard lies, 

Always extending the friendly hand, 
Out of the sorrow, and want and shame, 

Lifting the fallen in all the land. 

This is their mission, to comfort and cheer, 

Of brothers and sisters a union fair, 
Thousands redeemed from the slavish curse, 

Thousands uplifted from want and care, 

All over the land, from mountain to sea, 

Clasp the strong hands in their mission of love, 

Always uplifting, again and again, 

Following the precepts revealed from above. 

Though their brother fall in an evil hour, 
They go to him kindly with words of cheer, 

Never reproaching, in word or deed, 

" Bind up the broken," their mission here. 

This is the work of the Temperance Reform, 
" To close up the dram-shops of death and hell, 

Drive out the curse of our brother's life," 
Over the land let the chorus swell. 

" To drive out the vultures that eat the hearts, 
Vultures that fatten on want and shame, 

Demons that fill up the caverns of hell, 
Demons incarnate, their rightful name." 

See how they gloat o'er their lawful spoil, 

Licensed to keep and licensed to sell, 
Licensed to poison their fellow-men, 

Licensed for tolling their funeral knell. 



194 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Licensed to burden the land with crime, 

Licensed to tenant the prison cell, 
Licensed to people the paupers' graves, 

Licensed to keep and licensed to sell. 

Vote down the license to keep aud sell, 

Make it a crime of the deepest dye ; 
" Cursed is he that putteth the glass 

To his brother's lips" saith the Lord Most High. 

Brothers, on you doth the burden lie ; 

Sisters, on you doth the mantle fall ; 
Save by your pleadings, and prayers and tears, 

Rescue the lost from the demon's thrall. 



EASTER HYMN. 



Now hath Christ risen from the dead ; 
Now, spirit bruised, lift up thy head ; 
Now, soul, cast off thy fear and dread — 
Thy Lord has risen indeed. 

Now hath Immanuel conquered hell ; 
No more the grave, the shroud, the knell. 
Forevermore triumphant swell 
The notes of victory. 

Now hath Christ risen from the grave, 
Crowned, sceptered, lifted up to save. •'» 
All the sad hearts of earth may have 
Pardon and peace and rest. 

Hath Christ arisen, soul, for thee ? 
Hath love and joy and mercy free, 
Baptismal waters, crystal sea, 

Washed all thy garments pure ? 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA, 193 

Then hath Christ risen, risen indeed ; 
On Him cast all thy care and need, 
He never breaks the bruised reed. 
Lean on His mighty arm. 

Dear Master, in this heart of mine 
Let Thy bright image ever shine, 
Transfiguring all with love divine. 

Now Christ hath risen indeed. 



BERTHA'S BRIDAL. 

The bridal robes are spotless fair, 
The bridal bells chime on the air, 
The happy bride, without a care, 
In blushing beauty stands. 

The bridal flowers, blossoms rare, 

Entwine amid her soft brown hair, 

A bride beloved all sweet and fair, 

With dainty, snowflake hands. 

The bridal robes are not so fair 
As the pure soul enshrined there, 
With Love's white bloom amid her hair 
And joy within her heart. 

The chiming of the bridal bells 
The dear old story softly tells, 
For in her dark eyes' limpid wells, 
Her bridegroom's image lies, 

And joy and peace and pure delight, 
The angels of the wedding night, 
In radiant glory gleaming bright, 
On all her footsteps wait. 



198 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

THE LITTLE MOTHER. 

TO MRS. R. D. B. 

The dearest little mother 
That walks the earth below, 

Her eyes are soft and tender, 
The sweetest that I know. 

From out their loving glory 
Her fair soul shineth bright, 

Enrobed in spotless raiment, 
A vision of delight. 

About her petite figure, 

Dark, silken shimmering curls, 

Her smiling lips of scarlet 
Reveal a string of pearls. 

Her voice is low and tender, 
Her heart is full of love ; 

A shrine for all things holy — 
Her bosom of the dove. 

Within her arms enfolding, 

Her flock of snow-white lambs, 

Her dainty hands caressing, 
The little mother stands. 

About her fairly figure 

Her prattling children sweet, 

Upon her bosom lying, 

Or clustered round her feet. 

These are her household treasures, 
These, and the manly breast 

On which her head reposes 
In perfect love and rest, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 19? 

For in his dark eyes tender, 

The same glad spirit beams, 
That won the little maiden, 

The idol of her dreams. 

The same sweet hearted lover 

Where'er her footsteps rove, 
The same bright soul of honor, 

Her gift of heavenly love. 

Ah, happy little mother ! 

God's angels from the skies 
Shall strew thy path with flowers 

To gladden thy soft eyes; 

To cheer thee on thy journey 

Unto that land ol rest, 
And gather all thy dear ones 

In mansions of the blest ; 

Where are no tears or sorrow,. 

And parting is unknown, 
Through grace of Him that reigneth 

Upon His Father's throne. 



A NEW YEAR'S EVANGEL. 

One fleeting year has passed away, 
And backward doth my spirit stray, 
One year ago — the happy day — 
Our darlings by our side. 

One year ago with joy we sang, 
One year ago our laughter rang, 
To-day what black draped pictures hang 
On Memory's crystal wall. 
13 



193 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

We were so happy ; life was fair, 
Knowing no sorrow, pain or care, 
Tasting the cup of bliss so rare, 

Filled with its purple wine. 

The baby laughed with merry glee, 
The gold-haired lassie, glad and free, 
Her dove eyes shining tenderly, 

Red lips and teeth of pearl. 

The laddie's eyes, like violets blue, 
Loving and gentle, pure and true, 
And little wifie, smiling thro' 
A mist of happy tears. 

Ah, me ! the new year promised fair, 
Now vanished with its weight of care, 
And vanished, too, the cup so rare, 
So full of life's red wine. 

And from our sight has vanished too 
The dove-eyed lassie, tender, true, 
And baby with the orbs of blue, 
And tiny, dimpled hands. 

Their little feet have climbed the stair, 
In the sweet angel guardian care : 
Ah, me ! they were so fair, so fair, 
One year ago to-day. 

O little Maude may ne'er come back, 
Adown the heavenly, star-lit track, 
But we may never, never lack 

God's great-, uplifting grace. 

And baby's yioiet orbs of light, 
Will no more gladden earthly sight, 

But in that glory land so bright 

We'll surely meet again. 



SFRIGS OF ACACIA. 199 

And round our necks will softly twine 
The lassie's arms, with love divine, 
Her sweet blue eyes with glory shine, 
Her raiment white and fair. 

And in our arms the babe shall lie, . 
In that glad land beyond the sky, 
A heavenly New Year, bye and bye, 
The dawn of endless day. 



CHERRY BLOSSOM. 

Pretty little Blossom 
With her golden hair, 

Laughing like a fairy, 
Rosy, sweet and fair. 

Darling little Blossom, 
Eyes of softest blue, 

Tiny hands so dainty, 
Papa's pet — that's true. 

Mamma's babie, angels 
Guard with tender care, 

Always hovering o'er her, 
Floating in the air. 

Watch the baby sleeping 
In her downy nest, 

Or lying sweetly dreaming 
On the mother's breast. 

Beauteous little Blossom, 
Spotless, pure and white, 

Just like lambs of heiven, 
Full of love and lijht. 



200 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Papa loves the darling, 
Mama says she's sweet 

From her head all golden 
To her dimpled feet. 

• Pretty little Blossom, 

Gift of God from on high, 
May the blessed seraphs 
Always hover nigh. 



LA FILLE DE JOIE. 



I knew her when an artless child, 

How I did love her, my sweet playmate fair, 
For her I gathered choicest fragrant flowers, 

To weave amid her radiant, golden hair. 

She blossomed into maidenhood — a pearl, 
A spotless lily, or a blush rose sweet, 

From out cerulean stars her white soul shone, 
Treading the way prepared for stainless feet. 

One day there came a youth of princely mien, 
A face celestial gods are said to wear, 

Dark curling locks that clustered on his brow, 
A heart as false as was his seeming fair. 

She listened, as with chosen, wily words 

He breathed his wondrous, witching tale of love, 

Told her of stately halls and pleasures gay, 
The shining serpent charmed the tender dove. 

Awhile entranced, within the monster's coil 
The fluttering dove with ruffled plumage lay, 

Smiled at the demon, drank her wine of life, 
And dreamed of love that could not fade away. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 201 

At last the smiling fiend revealed his face, 
She gazed upon him as he was, not seemed, 

The curling locks were writhing, hissing snakes ; 
Pale Death's the arms in which she fondly dreamed. 

She woke from out her dream, polluted, lost ; 

Over her white soul gleamed the serpent's trail. 
Thenceforth for her the downward, fearful path, 

For her the life o'er which we draw the veil. 

Oh, God ! there is no name in earth or hell 
Too vile for him who innocence betrays — 

Foul, slimy thing that crawls and creeps to kill, 
Fit only for perdition's hopeless days. 

And yet we clasp the princely jeweled hand, 
Within our circle smiles the god-like face ; 
Tear off the painted semblance, let Y\\rc\feel 
■ The lasting scorn, the weight of foul disgrace. 

Let social justice be his sure reward, 

He is the social evil — he alone. 
On his proud features fix the shameful seal, 

He wrought the ruin, let him then atone. 

Not on the loving woman, trusting man ; 

Not on the unborn, sinless little child, 
Murdered, aye, murdered 'by your dainty frown. 

" Remember Mercy." spake the Master mild. 

Ah, little playmate, lost to home and friends, 
Where are you now ? Oh, fain would we forget. 

No answer, save from out the dreadful depths, 
A wailing monotone, a soul's regret. 

Lost little playmate in this world of blight, 
We that so dearly loved thee never can forget 

Those happy hours of childhood's sunny day, 
In heaven we trust, redeemed, we'll see her yet. 



202 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Without a stain upon her garments fair, 
Without a spot upon her sinless brow, 

Because her " Elder Brother, Christ the King,' 
Hath made her spirit white as stainless snow. 



"BABY BESSIE." 

Her lips are full of kisses, 
Her heart is full of love, 

Her hands are full of dimples, 
A cherub from above. 

Her cheeks are damask rosebuds, 
Her voice is music sweet, 

A host of baby jewels 
The pink toes of her feet. 

Her hair is soft and sheeny 

Upon a spotless brow, 
The sweetest bud of beauty 

That ever bloomed below. 

Her large dark orbs of glory 
Are full of grace divine ; 

With peace and calm of heaven, 
And purity, they shine. 

Within their wells of gladness 
The Christ-child's image fair, 

The whiteness of the heavenly 
Reflected softly there. 

Of such, as little children, 
With spirits ciad in white, 

The homes of joy supernal 
Are filled with glad delight. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 203 

So looking into heaven 

Revealed in baby's eyes, 
We all may see the glory 

Of the kingdom in the skies. 

And if we doubt the future, 

And all the hopes we prize, 
Our doubts and fears will vanish 

If we look in baby's eyes. 

For in their deeps of sweetness, 
He makes His presence known, 

And there in all His beauty 
Christ sitteth on His throne. 

And gazing on His glory, 

There comes a joy and peace, 
Ineffable and holy — 

The weary soul's release. 

For in that glimpse of heaven 

Our dear lost lambs are seen, 
Beside the river peaceful, 

In living pastures green. 

We read God's revelation 

Of love in baby's eyes, 
The truest inspiration 

For mortals 'neath the skies. 

O souls, with sorrow laden, 

Beneath thy griefs bowed down, 

Rejoice, thy lambs are singing 
With palm, and robe, and crown. 

And He who loves His children 

Will give thee back thine own ; 
For, crowned with life immortal, 

Christ sitteth on His throne. 



204 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Sweet, loving little Bessie, 
With eyes of darkest hue, 

A tender bud of promise, 

With heart all warm and true,- 

We kiss thy dimpled fingers, 
Caress thy shining hair, 

Give thanks to God, the Giver, 
For thee all spotless fair. 



THE MISSING SHIP. 

I sit at my chamber window high, 
And gaze on the deep blue sea ; 

The white-winged ships go floating by, 
And the wihd blows merrily ; 

Of all the ships that sail the sea, 

No freighted bark comes home to me. 

One summer morn at break of day 
My gallant craft sailed swift away ; 

Her snowy sails like white dove's wings, 
Gleamed on the waters of the bay. 

She sails to-day an unknown sea, 

My bark of hope comes not to me. 

Laden with peace and love and joy, 
Fruits of the summer-land of song, 

With all my treasured hopes of life, 
My precious bark sailed swiftly along, 

Now white sails rent, with broken masts, 

She drives before the northern blabts. 

I look, and yet my missing ship 
Cleaves not the waters of the bay. 

I think she'll come with her freight of joy, 
The wealth of love she bore away ; 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 203 

But days flit by and o'er the sea 
There comes no freighted bark to me. 

I think sometimes no frozen sea 

Hath bound my ship in ice and snow, 

But in some harbor safe and free, 
She floats in all her pride, I know, 

And when the wind is fair, you see, 

She will come sailing home to me. 

So when my ship shall come at last, 

Across the waters billowy blue, 
I shall forget the weary watch, 

And know that God is kind and true ; 
For on her. deck my feet shall stand, 
And she shall bear me to the strand. 

The shining shore where dear ones wait 
The coming of our dove-winged bark, 

With precious freight of peace and joy, 
Of heavenly hope and love, the ark, 

Where all our ships that sail life's sea, 

Shall anchor in that haven free. 

The harbor of the tempest-tossed, 
Whose shining water peaceful flow 

Close by the golden city's walls, 
Where gentle zephyrs sweetly blow ; 

Safely sheltered in that silvery bay, 

Our ships shall never sail away. 

I sit at my chamber window high, 
And gaze on the broad blue bay, 

The beautiful ships go sailing by, 
To the land that is far away. 

I think of my barks across the sea, 

In the harbor of heaven's eternity. 



206 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

They bore our little ones home to God, 

To the port of heavenly rest, 
Convoyed by the angel pinioned barks, 

To the loving Redeemer's breast; 
And there when our ship shall cross the sea, 
We'll find them all in that haven free. 

My ship ! my ship has come at last, 

With an angel at the helm ; 
Outrode the storm and wintry blast, 

The billows that overwhelm. 
The sweet south wind with gentle gales 
Filleth with fragrance her dove-wing sails. 

She is laden with mercy and peace and love ; 

Her captain is Christ the King; 
Her pilot is clothed in garments bright, 

His voice doth cheerily ring. 
Furl all the sails, the anchor cast — 

The dear old ship is home at last. 



MOUNT AUBURN. 

A GLORIA FOR ADVENT. 



Out of my window, 'mid the beauteous trees, 

I see the fair white city of the dead, 

The snowy shafts that point to realms of light, 

The marble tabernacles where rest in peace 

A cloud of witnesses who died 

In faith and hope of immortality. 

Within this silent home for holy dead 

Repose the mighty men of old, 

Who lived but for their Country's good. 

The patriots, sages, aye, and martyrs too, 

And gentle pastors from their labors freed. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 207 

At their still feet, the little lambs, 
The tender mothers, and the noble sires, 
They ministered unto with earnest zeal, — 
Lie sleeping, O, so placidly and still, 
Waiting the summons to immortal life ; 
Waiting the voice that calleth all the dead, 
To waken from their dreamless sleep, 
And rise in all His glorious majesty, 
In all the full fruition of their hope, 
In all the heavenly beauty of the saints. 

Think you in that fair dawn of endless day, 
We shall not know our best beloved of earth ? 
Think you the father will not fold again 
Unto his breast the little boy that died ? 
Think you the mother will not sing for joy 
To clasp again her precious dimpled babes ? 
By angels to their shining spotless breasts, 
Enfolded in their tender loving arms, 
And borne across the silent stream that flows 
Close by the city of the Heavenly King. 
The incarnation of our God in Christ, 
The Alpha and Omega of the World. 

In all this tranquil city of the dead, 

Whose streets and avenues of memories sweet, 

Of buried hopes and blighted joys of tarth, 

There is not one pale sleeper there, 

But shall awaken at the trumpet's sound. 

All time shall pass away ; a glad eternity 

Shall break on their unclouded vision now. 

The new sweet song of joy and psalms of peace ; 

The waving palms of victory over death ; 

All these await the coming of the Christ 

Again to earth, in all his Father's glory. 

O happy, restful souls of our beloved dead, 

Ye do so quiet lie with folded hands, 

O'er hearts that feel no anguish evermore. 

The fljwers lie unheeded on your breasts ; 



208 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Thou hearest not the moanings of our grief; 

Thou knowest not the grievings of our souls; 

Thou seest not the tears that slowly fall, 

For thou art hidden from our loving' gaze. 

Thine eyes are closed, thy lips are dumb, 

And yet sometimes we dimly see 

The gleaming of thy garments white, 

And hear the sound of rustling pinions fair, 

While lightly fold about us, clinging arms, 

And loving fingers clasp our hands again. 

Ah ! then we know the spirits of our dead, 

Have only gone before us to the land 

Where light and joy doth reign supreme ; 

Because our Lord and Master lives again ; 

That only their mortality within — 

These marble tabernacles and mossy graves do lie. 

Out of my window, mid the trees of life, 
I see no more the city of the dead, 
Only the open door to heavenly rest, 
Only the shining entrance to supernal joy, 
Only the tabernacles of light and peace, 
Only the many mansions of the blest. 
Naught but the gleaming of the golden street, 
Naught but the sound of many waters sweet. 

Out of my window nevermore I see 

A narrow stream with banks of verdant hue ; 

And just beyond the mountain of the dead, 

I see the celestial city of the Triune God. 

A broad and peaceful river, flowers fair, 

That never fade, and trees of living green. 

I see no more the softly swelling hills, 

I see the cloudless mountains of the better land. 

Better than all, I see His shining face, 

And in His arms our little lambkins lie. 

1 hear Him softly saying, " Even so 

Thou shalt enfold thy dimpled babes again." 

And all our sorrowing tears are wiped away. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 200 



LITTLE BOY BEN." 



Little Boy Benny has come to the town, 
In a budget of lace and 'broidered gown, 
His throne is a divan of softest down, 
Pretty Boy Ben. 

Little Boy Ben has come to the town, 
Checks like the roses, only half blown, 
Just from the land of the seraphim flown, 
Darling Boy Ben. 

Little Boy Ben is dimpled and fair, 
A shimmering glory of golden hair 
Caresses a brow like the cherubims wear, 
Lovely Boy Ben. 



Have you come to stay, O, little Boy Ben ? 
Or will you fly back to the asphodel glen ? 
Perhaps we shall love you too dearly, Boy Ben, 
Sweet little Ben. 



The King is the Shepherd of tender white lambs, 
They know Kis sweet voice and soft, loving hands, 
And break through the tendrils of earthly bands, 
Precious Boy Ben. 

Ah, little Boy Benny, with 'broidered gown, 
Your delicate lace, and your couch of down, 
Your cheek liku a rose that is only half blown, 
Dimpled Boy Ben. 

The spring-time has come with sunshine and flowers, 
Singing of birds and perfume of flowers, 
The light and joy of the heavenly bowers, 
Little Bov Ben. 



210 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

The roses and lilies have blossomed again, 
Their song has a joyous and happy refrain, 
Uplifting the hearts that in sorrow have lain, 
Loving Bjy Ben. 



NOBODY'S CHILD." 



The night was dark, and drear, and cold, 

The stars beneath their veils 
Of snow-flakes, hid their sparkling eyes — 

The winds sighed mournful wails. 

It was a night of stormy gloom, 
The lamps shone dim and pale, 

The silent streets deserted all, 
Save by one figure frail. 

A woman young and passing fair, 

Yet full of anguish sore, 
Her bosom rent with sobs and sighs, 

Her arms a burden bore. 



It was, oh, God ! a winsome child, 

A little tender girl, 
With eyes of heavenly violet hue, 

And cheeks of tinted pearl. 

Within the massive portals high 
Of a proud mansion fair, 

The mother lays her little child, 
And strips her bosom bare. 

For round the little shivering waif 
She twines her tattered shawl, 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 211 

One kiss, then darted swift away 
Into the bluck night's pall. 

Now mingling with the sighing blast, 

Along the frozen street, 
A piteous, pleading cry went forth, 

With childish accents sweet. 

" Oh, mamma, mamma dear, come back, 

Your little Lily die," 
But from the darkness' dreary waste 

There cometh no reply. 

The wail'ng cry grew fainter still 

As wish a sob and moan, 
The poor, deserted tender child 

Whispered, " I alLalone. 

What for my mamma go and leave 

Htr Lily in the snow? 
She said the blessed angels come, 

And manvna ought to know. 

I hope the loving angel dear 

Will come for me so quick, 
'Cause Lily tired and faint and cold, 

And hungry, too, and sick. 

I dess I do to sleep, you know, 

And den the angels come, 
And take me to my mamma dear, 

And I sail be at home." 



The night wind whistled^cold and shrill 

Adown the dreary street, 
The stout patrolman of the force 

Upon his lonely beat 



212 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Within the massive portals high 
Descried the sleeping child, 

And swiftly hastened to its aid 
With pitying words and mild. 

He folded her unto his breast, 

The poor, deserted girl, 
And softly, tenderly he kissed 

The cheek of tinted pearl. 

And something like a stifled sob 
Broke from his manly heart, 

And something like a shining tear 
Did from his dark eyes start. 

And then the sleeping child awoke, 

And in the pitying face 
She thought she saw the angel dear, 

The angel of God's grace. 

And softly kissed the bearded mouth, 
And on the kindly breast 

She sweetly laid her golden head 
In perfect faith and rest. 

Nobody's child had found a home 
Within those sheltering arms, 

Somebody' s child, the angels said, 
Endowed with heavenly charms. 

Somebody's child grew wondrous fair, 
And full of tender grace, 

And still she saw the angel sweet, 
The angel in his face. 

For in the stout patrolman's breast 
Three seraphs robed in white, 

Made melody within his heart, — 
God's love, and peace, and light. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 213 



GOD'S POOR. 

[To " Happy Nancy," an inmate of Cambridge almshouse for the 
last 30 years.] 

An old, old woman, full of years, 

That knows no other home ; 
For thirty years of smiles and tears, 

A woman all alone. 



The world went out of Nancy's life 
When she was in her prime, 

And left her, stranded on the sands, 
Wrecked on the shores of time. 

All through the patient years of pain. 
The days and nights untold, 

Poor Nancy waited for the time 
A new life should unfold, 

But onward still the gay world swept 
Adown the stream of life ; 

And Nancy, in her refuge lone, 
Forgot its care and strife. 

A new and sweeter life, within, 

Began to blossom fair ; 
A life that's hidden from the world, 

That conquers pain and care. 

And so her longing, restless heart 
Found peace, and joy, and rest ; 

The gentle, loving Comforter; 
The holy, Heavenly Guest. 

And in that love, exceeding far 

All earthly love or thought 
Poor, patient Nancy, lived again, 
And hopefully she wrought. 
14 



214 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

No longer sadness, gloom and doubt, 

No longer pain and tears. 
The Great Physician healed her wounds, 

And banished all her fears. 

Now happy Nancy sits and waits, 

A smile upon her face ; 
Her heart at peace with all the world, 

The joy of heavenly grace. 

I tell you, pauper Nancv's rich ; 

For naught can take away 
Her wealth of love and perfect trust, 

Her hope of endless day. 

And some glad morning she will fold 
Her hands upon her breast, 

A daughter of the King of Kings, 
Enthroned among the blest. 



A MYSTERY. 



Alone with life-long, voiceless night, 
Alone with soundless, life-long days, 

Yet ever smiling his delight ; 

Because he sees, gives God the praise. 

No speech, no unstopped, listening ears ; 

No voice of children sweetly falls, 
No soft-toned music charms to tears, 

No chiming bell to worship calls. 

And yet — I cannot tell you why — 
My silent neighbor's blithe and gay ; 

He does not sit and weep and sigh 
His little span of life away. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 213 

What blessing glorious hath God's care 

Bestowed upon my joyous friend ? 
His days are like a vision fair, 

While love and peace his steps attend. 

He is not great or rich in store, 

Save in the golden heart he bears. 
Perhaps the jewels of the poor 

Illume the crown of life he wears. 

Something he has unseen, I know, 

Some veiled shrine where silence reigns ; 

The temple of our God below 
Somewhere a living fount retains. 

Perhaps he hears the Spirit's voice 
Chanting with tenderness and peace : 

li Rejoice ! I say again, rejoice ! 

God's love and mercy never cease!" 

With ears unstopped and lips unsealed 
Some day he'll greet his children dear. 

Some day in Heaven 'twill be revealed — 
The mystery of affliction here. 



" THE REAL PRESENCE." 

The night was peaceful and serene, 
The moon with lambent light, 

And all the starry orbs of heaven 
Looked down with soft delight, — 

When the Lord Christ of Nazareth, 

Amid His faithful band, 
With love and grace unutterable, 

And god-like bearing grand, — 



216 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Stood in the midst, and smiling said, 
" This bread I give to thee, 

Is My own body slain for you, 
Take, eat, and think of Me. 

" Drink this, my blood — for you 'tis spilt- 

Of the New Testament ; 
A fount of cleansing, full and free. 

For this thy Lord was sent. 

" I am the perfect sacrifice 

For the whole world's great sin, 

That by their trusting faith in Me, 
All souls may enter in. 

" Do this in memory of Me, 
Who loved and died for thee, 

Giving My body to the cross, 
Shedding My blood so free. 

^ Until I come again," said Christ — 

And I shall come again — 
No lamb shall on the altar lie, 

Burnt-offerings are in vain. 

" For in my flesh and crimson blood, 

A holy sacrifice 
Is offered once, for all the world ; 

It doth for sin suffice. 

" With purest faith, and hope, and love, 

Feed on Me, in thy heart, 
Give thanks, rejoice, and let thy soul 

From every sin depart. 

" For I, the Comforter, will come, 

And sweetly reign within ; 
Thou' It surely know My presence there, 

For Love shall enter in." 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 217 

His Real Presence robes in white 

The spirit glad and free, 
From slavish bands of guilt and fear, 

To all eternity. 

His Real Presence feeds the heart, 

Preserves thy soul alive ; 
The fainting, weary spirit cheers, 

And faith and hope revive. 

When the Lord Christ in majesty 

Comes to a loving heart, 
No power in heaven, or earth, or hell; 

The union sweet can part. 

He will not leave thee, nor forsake, 

Through every earthly ill, 
His Real Presence e'er abides 

With those who do His will. 

And though thy heart may often doubt, 

Thy soul with terror thrill, 
Yet doth the Master's presence there, 

Thy heart with courage fill. 

Thou art His child, bought with a price, 

He'll surely keep His own ; 
For thou must reign at last with Him, 

A partner of His throne. 

Do we not know, when first He came 

Unto our spirit's shrine, 
And throned Himself in majesty, 

With love and joy divine ? 

And spoke the sweetest words on earth, 

" Thy sins are all forgiven*' 
For since that time His tender voice 

And presence maketh heaven. 



218 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

"THE ANGEL OF THE COVENANT." 

Come, now, white Angel, fold me close 

Within thy radiant arms, 
And let my spirit eyes behold 

Fair heaven with all its charms. 

I fain would know what hidden lies 

Beyond this world of tears, 
Would clasp the hands of dear ones lost, 

And lose all doubts and fears. 

Uplift the veil, bright seraph, now, 

Mine eyes are full of hope ; 
My heart beats loud with eager joy, 

In darkness now I grope. 

O, for one glimpse of that dear land, 

To know as I am known, 
To gaze with holy vision pure 

At Christ upon His throne ! 

To hear Him say, " My child ! My child ! ! 

To see that tender face 
All joy and love ineffable, 

All glorious with His grace. 

And feel about my lowly neck 

The arms of Love divine; 
Within His own my trembling hands, 

His soft eye fixed on mine. 

What dost thou say, sweet Angel fair? 

The visign may not be ? 
That only death can lift the veil, 

Can open heaven for me, — 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 219 

And on their golden hinges turn 

The crystal gates of day, 
And give me entrance to the courts 

Where Jesus holdeth sway ? 

Death's arms must first embrace me close 

Within their tender fold, 
And on his bosom must my head 

Repose in peace untold ? 

His fair white hands enclasp mine own, 

His voice with accents low 
Fall gently, sweetly on my ear, 

Like rippling music's flow? 

That Death is God's glad messenger 

To bear on mighty wing 
The souls of His beloved dead, 

His psalm of life to sing ? 

Bright Angel of the Covenant, 

Thy words are rare and sweet, 
My heart is filled with happiness, 

I kiss thy shining feet. 

I may not know what hidden lies 

Beyond this vale of tears, 
But thy glad words of heavenly love 

Have banished all my fears. 

I know that in the peaceful land 

My soul shall find her own — 
Her precious, spotless lambs again — 

Around the Master's throne. 

I know my heart with love divine, 

And rapture full and free, 
Shall sing the song the ransomed sing, 

Mine eyes His glory see. 



220 SPRIGS OF ACaCIA. 

My saddened spirit will not yearn 
To clasp mine own again ; 

I'll surely find my little babes 
Upon the heavenly plain. 

Dear Angel of the Covenant, 
With accents low and sweet, 

My bruised heart is comforted, 
I kiss thy shining feet. 



THE BLIND MOTHER. 

Sainted and spotless her loving life's way, 
Sweet as the lily-bell bending to pray, 
Dimmed is the light of her gentle blue eye, 
And darkened her vision to earth's fair sky, 

She sees not the forms of her loved ones dear, 
Oft from the faded eye drops the bright tear, 
Quivers the sad lip with sorrow suppressed, 
Mutely restraining the sobs in her breast. 

Longing for sight, as the saint for his rest, 
Waiting, in meekness, at last to be blest, 
" To see my children " her pitiful prayer, 
" My darlings so loving, and kind, and fair." 

" God, in Thy great heart, remember thy child, 
Have pity on me, my anguish is wild, 
Thy spirit can burst my prison doors wide, 
And bid me return from darkness' black tide." 

" O, never on earth shall these blind eyes see, 
Till the Master's voice sets my spirit free ; 
When the pure light of Heaven illumines my brow, 
Then — then shall these eyelids cease to o'erflow." 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 22t 



VESPERS AT ST. ALOYSIUS. 

The pealing bells chimed silvery notes 

Upon that holy day, 
Like song birds with melodious throats, 

They called the saints to pray. 

They called us forth to vespers sweet 

To join the solemn chant, 
To rest our weary pilgrim feet, 

Beseech our Lord to grant 

A glimpse of heaven through faith divine, 

A drop of water pure, 
A ray of light on us to shine, 

Our fainting hearts assure. 

The organ breathed a heavenly psalm 

From out its golden heart, 
Angelic voices joined to charm 

The soul from earth apart. 

The holy priest in vestments rare 

Before the altar bowed, 
And white-robed little children fair, 

With sinless thoughts endowed. 

And like the shepherd great he laid 

Pure hands upon their heads, 
And, blessing them, he humbly prayed 

To walk the path that leads- 
All white-souled babes to his safe fold, 

The innocent and pure, 
Redeemed there with love untold ; 

From pain and death secure. 



222 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

The organ's throbbing heart ran o'er 
With flowing cadence sweet ; 

On heavenly waves of music bore 
All souls to Jesu*' feet. 

And as the seraph voices sang, 
The fainting hearts grew strong ; 

While in the soul soft chime-bells rang 
The new celestial song. 



THE YANKEE GIRL. 

She is slender, and graceful, and blonde, 
And fair as the queen of beau monde, 
Her cheek hath the tint of the rose, 
And the lily that spotlessly grows. 

Her eyes like the violets blue, 
Are loving, and tender, and true ; 
Lips like the scarlet geranium's glow — 
Hands like the flakes of the delicate sno'V. 

Brow that is noble — a brow for a queen — 
Hair like the sunbeams, with glittering sheen, 
Stately and swan-like she glideth along 
Unconscious of beauty — a theme for a song. 

But fairer, and nobler, and rarer by far, 
Her womanly soul, like the rays of a star, 
Illumines her face with a heavenly light, 
Revealing her spirit, that walketh in white. 

Ah, sweet as the seraph's her beautiful face, 
With its soft tinted blushes and lilies of grace, 
But priceless the heart with its maidenly love, 
Enshrined in a bosom as fair as the dove. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 228 

No need of bright jewels, and gleaming gold, 
Her eyes are the glorious sapphires of Old, 
Her teeth are a casket of milk-white pearls, 
She's crowned with a glory of amber curls. 

No riches, or titles, or houses, or land — 
Her wealth is her dimpled and dainty hand, 
Her lips with their scarlet geranium's glow, 
Her soul that is whiter than delicate snow. 

She is slender, and graceful, and blonde, 
And fairer than all the beau monde. 
With her face with the tints of the rose, 
And the lily that spotlessly grows. 



THREE LITTLE MIDGETS. 

Three little midgets, all fairies sweet, 
Six soft eyes of the darkest brown ; 

Three tiny pairs of dimpled feet, 

Six red rosy cheeks, only half blown. 

Three little midgets, with nut-brown hair, 
Three white brows like the cherubs bear; 

Six little hands of a beauty rare, 
How do you like the picture fair ? 

One saucy midget on papa's breast, 
Patting the manly bearded mouth ; 

One little midget in peaceful rest, 

Dreaming the visions of spotless youth. 

One fairy midget with mother's eyes, 
Loving and gentle, sweet and fair, 

Dear little violet, modest and wise, 
Crowned with a glory of silken hair. 



224 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

0, what a cluster of jewels bright, 
Enshrined in the casket of home, 

Filling the place with heavenly light, 
Hither the household angels come. 

Just hear the music of soft, white wings, 
Angels watching the children dear ; 

Listen ! the song that the seraph sings, 
Falleth so faintly on the ear. 

Three little midgets in downy nest, 

Jewels rare for the Christ child's crown, 

Peacefully slumber in holy rest, 

Six soft eyes with their curtains down. 

Six small hands of a beauty rare, 

Three sweet brows of the cherubs fair, 

Shaded with clusters of nut-brown hair, 
All in the Angel-Guardian's care. 

Sleep, little mother, in quiet rest, 
All thy lambkins are in the fold, 

Clasped to the Gentle Shepherd's breast, 
Safe in the arms of a love untold. 



"THE LITTLE BROOK." 

Dedicated to the memory of the late Henry A. Turner, aged 16. 

Just at the threshold of a joyous life, 

He laid him down at peace to die. 
There were no terrors for his youthful soul, 

He saw the glorious mansions of the sky. 

And only just a little babbling brook 

Flowed softly murmuring at his feet. 
Beyond, the fair angelic forms appear 

And joyfully his white soul greet. 



SFRIGS OF ACACIA. 223 

They open wide the shining door of Heaven, 

And cluster close about his. little bed. 
Clasping his hand, they whisper, soft and low, 

About the place a radiant glory shed. 

As with a smile, ineffable and sweet, 

He clasped the hands of those he loved the best, 
And said, " Goodbye mama, goodbye papa, 

I'm not afraid and soon will be at rest." 

"I'll wait for you. I know we'll meet again ; 

Because the angels, ever bright and fair, 
Have told me that there is no night of death, 

That I shall surely, surely greet you there." 

" I want a tiny fair white stone to lie 

Upon my green and flowery grave, 
And written there ' To Little Henry, dear, 

Across the shining brooklets wave.' " 



LIBERTY. 



Dedicated to the grateful memory of the late Osborne P. Anderson, 
last of the John Brown Raiders. 

Last of the noble band of martyrs brave, 
Last of the chosen few that freely gave 
Young life's bright hopes and willing hands 
To sunder chains and slavish bands. 

Last of the consecrated heroes true, 
Who vowed that godlike men of sable hue 
No more should live vile hunted slaves, 
No more should fill dishonored graves. 

Last of the brotherhood of deathless fame, 
Who counted all the cost and bitter shame 



220 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

And risked their all, their life, if dying gain 
The freedom of their race from galling chain. 

We lay our vernal chaplet on thy brow, 
Thy form of manly strength lies cold and low, 
Thy valiant arm and friendly clasping hands 
Death's fingers enfold with icy bands, 

Yet in the grateful hearts of all enshrined 
Thy sacred memory's cherished and entwine 
With all we love — the noble, good and true 
Who died that men might live of darker hue. 



VESPERS AT "ALL SOULS'." 

He said there was no night of gloom and pain, 
He said God's love was life, and joy, and peace, 

There was no future full of care and woe, 
That in the last there was a glad release. 

A sweet reh ase from sorrow, want, and shame, 
A blessed love encircled — love brought rest 

Fo: all eanh's wayworn travelers there — 
A folding to a Father's yearning breast. 

A meeting of the Father and His own ; 

A prodigal, perhaps, but still a precious child ; 
A purple robe in lieu of filthy rags, 

A jeweled ring for hands all undefiled. 

A feast of joy, and light, and happy song ; 

A table burdened with the heavenly food, 
Adorned with spotless fragrant asphocLL, 

And juicy fruit from off the tree of good. 

And so my downcast heart was comforted ; 
My spirit drooping 'neath a weight of care 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 227 

Revived as with the dewy breath of heaven, 
My soul on pinions cleft the perfumed air. 

The organ breathed a glad, harmonious strain, 

While sweet, seraphic voices sang, 
Up thro' the vaulted roof to His white throne 

The " Gloria in Excelsis Deo " rang. 

So in my heart I still say " God is Love," 
And so because He lives forever, evermore, 

All souls shall live thro' ages yet to come — 
All souls at last may find the heavenly shore. 



HOME AGAIN.' 



TO THE SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF PORTSMOUTH. 

There is no place like Home, sweet Home, 
There is no face like mother's face, 

There is no hand like brother's hand, 
No arms like sister's tendriled grace. 

There are no skies like native skies, 

No trees compare with boyhood's trees, 

There are no days like childhood days, 
No memory like our thought of these. 

There are no friends like early friends, 
No joys are like our youthful joys, 

No pleasures like those halcyon days, 
When you and I, old friend, were boys. 

There is no church like that old church, 
Where little feet went lightly down, 

Where Love, was learned at sainted feet, 
And Faith revealed a heavenly crown. 



228 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

There is no burial place like thine, 
There where our holy dead repose, 

Sleeping the peaceful dreamless sleep, 
Vouchsafed the blessed at life's close. 

And is it true that we shall see, 
The aged mother's placid face? 

And is it true that we shall meet, 
A brother's, sister's fond embrace ? 

And wilHhe friends of boyhood come, 
And clasp our eager, trembling hands? 

And will they speak the gentle words, 
That seallove's priceless golden bands ? 

Say : will the neighbors' doors ope wide, 
And will the city smiling wait, 

With bannered streets, and floral sheen, 
To greet us wiih her royal state ? 

Ah ! will these weary, waiting feet, 
Press once again our native hills ; 

And feel warm hearts responsive beat, 
To all that now our bosom thrills ? 

O beauteous home ! O hallowed place ! 

How doth our spirits long to fly, 
Across the intervening days, 

Upon thy mother-heart to lie. 



MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA. 

The moon shone clear on the sparkling sea, 
And the rippling waves danced merrily. 
The cool, soft breeze of the summer night; 
Filled weary souls with a sweet delight. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 229 

The notes of the golden bugles fell 
O.i the listening ear like a fairy spell ; 
While the merry laugh, and the joyous glee, 
Went forth o'er the bounding billows free. 

The great lights shone on the festive halls, 
On the deep, dark ocean, their glory fails. 
O.i palaces thronged with the young and gay, 
Where splendor and beauty are holding sway. 

And still in the moonlight, gleaming fair, 
Floateth a glorious vLion there. 
Throned like a queen, majestic and free ; 
Kissed by the waves of the purple sea, 

Cleopatra's barg~, of the olden time, 
"Was a dream of a q leen in her golden prime. 
But her silken sails, and her golden prow, 
Hive passed away, like the drifted snow. 

But a palace of beauty, and joy, and light, 
Of music, and dancing, and soft eyes bright, 
Still fbats on the billows in majesty, 
Empress of night, and the star of the sea. 



" BREAD OF HEAVEN." 

Hungering and thirsting for love I lie, 

Tired of sinning, and weary ; 
O ! for perfection in Christ, my cry, — 

Life is so wretched and dreary. 

Loving but little, so cold and faint ; 

Crosses are burdens en luring, 
Crowns are but naught, with my spirit's taint: 

Heaven worth hardl/ securing:. 



i 



230 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Life is so short, eternity 's so long, — 
Merciful drops now are falling. 

Now let me join in the chorus of song, 
All my Lord's passion recalling. 

O ! for the love that casteth out fears, 

! for a full heart rejoicing, 

O ! for the humble and contrite tears, 
My sins and folly repining. 

O ! for faith to believe in the power 
Qf Jesus to save me from sinning, 

O ! for full grace in the tempter's hour, 
Seeking my soul for hell's winning. 

Now, at this moment. O ! God, I wait, 

Now to my heart love revealing; 
Lowly and weak, at the pearly gate, 

1 sigh for my spirit's sealing. 

I'll knock at the door, I'll enter in, 
Sweet faith my scid heart sustaining ; 

Watching to sever each taint of sin, 
Heaven at last to be gaining. 

Now, blessed Lord, let Thy cup run o'er, 
Fill me with love for Thy cleansing ; 

Feed me with bread from the heavenly store, 
Wash me pure white with Thy blessing. 

Peace, like the silent, soft dews of heaven 
Pure, perfect love is distilling : 

Now through my faith in the promise given 
Holiness sweetly indwelling. 

Low at PI is feet was the pardon wrought, 
My soul from all sin to sever ; 

Childlike, I trust what my eyes see not, 
Loving, I'll lie here forever. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 231 

CENTENNIAL. 
Air, "Hail Columbia." 

A hundred years have gone and past ; 
And the Union stands forever fast; 
Our country, undivided, whole, 
Shall stand although the ages roll. 
Firm on the rock of freedom's might — 
The people's voice, the people's right. 

Our father's fought, and bled, and died, 
To scatter truth on every side ; 
They swore that slaves they would not be 
To tyrant Kings across the sea. 
Freemen to live, freemen Lo die, 
Their valor won the victory. 

On many a battle field of strife, 
They fought to save the nation's life ; 
Tney won their crowns of laurel green, 
They clothed their flag in starry sheen, 
They shed their blood that flag to save — 
God bless the flag ! long may it wave ! 

All honor to our gallant sires, 

Who gave to us our altar fires ; 

We proudly sing our fathers praise 

And dedicate our humble lays 

To those great souls, fair freedom's might, 

Who fought like heroes for the right. 

God bless cur country, broad and free ! 
Her arms extend from sea to sea ; 
Strong hands uphold, strong hearts defend 
Our Union, that shall never end. 
Columbia's stars shall float on high, 
The prcudeet flag beneath the sky. 



£32 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Heaven bless our native land and shield, 
Her honor in the world's wide field ! 
Her heroes rule the land and sea ; 
Columbia lives her sons are free. 
United live, united die ; 
Their war cry " death or victory." 

One God, one church, one ship of state ; 

One flag for all, both small and great; 

Our Union forever, and ever shall stand ; 

A Union beloved throughout the land. 

No north, no south, no east, no west, 

Columbia's fair daughters all clasped to her breast. 

All the stars in her ensign of beauty and grace, 
No daughter astray from Columbia's embrace ; 
The white arms of love around them enfold, 
White bands that are stronger than silver and gold. 
America's boast and America's pride, 
The land of our fathers and the heroes who died. 



LONGFELLOW'S NEW PSALM OF LIFE. 

Upon his weary couch of pain, 

The dying poet lay, 
And backward turned a loving look, 

Unto his boyhood day, 

When life was opening fair and bright, 

And full of promise rare, 
W.ien hope and fame, and wealth and joy, 

Were all before him there. 

A blue-eyed youth with sunny hair, 

A rosy, laughing lad, 
With heart unspotted from the world, 

All loving, warm and glad. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 233 

And now with fame and honor crowned, 

His mission nobly done, 
He waits the opening of the Gate, 

That hides our Father's Throne. 

A smile is on his gentle face, 

A halo round his head ; 
The Angel of the Covenant, 

Beside the poet's bed. 

He hears a voice we cannot hear, 

He sees a heavenly face, 
And feels the pressure of His hand, 

The Angel of God's grace. 

He hears the golden bells of Heaven, 

Chiming a hymn of praise, 
And, listening, hears the seraphs sing, 

A psalm of endless days. 

And so a peace ineffable, 

Shines in his tender eyes, 
And on his brow a glorious light, 

The beauty of the skies. 

Farewell ! there is no death, he cries, 

But life forevermore ; 
I see the loved and lost of earth, 

Upon the other shore. 

They wait for me with eager joy, 

And outstretched hands of love ; 
The " Welcome Home," they're singing now, 

To peace and rest above. 

And so with eyes still fixed on Heaven, 

And smiles upon his lips, 
God's Angel touched that god-like brow 

With loving finger tip, ; 



234 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

And laid upon his mighty breast, 

The poet's sacred head, 
While softly fell the Peace of Heaven, 

About that dying bed. 

O gentle heart that ever spoke 
Sweet words of comfort rare ! 

O fair white soul of love and life, 
That lives forever there ! 

We'll miss thy well-beloved face ; 

We'll miss thy pleasant voice; 
And yet there is a hope within, 

That bids all hearts rejoice. 

Because, some day at Heaven's gate, 
We'll find him waiting there, 

In spotless robes and fadeless crown, 
With palms and haloed hair. 



"LINA." 

There is no face that's so divine ; 
There is no beauteous form like thine. 
No blue eyes like thy violet stars, 
Until the gate of blis-i unbars. 
There are no hands so soft and fair, 
No silken flos; like thy bright hair. 
No scarlet lips so ripe and sweet, 
No' lassie with such dainty feet. 
And so, I love thee, sweet and fair ; 
So love, I'd shield Irom every care. 
In life and death my love for thee 
Shall constant, warm, unchanging be. 
And so I'll press with bearded lips, 
Thy rosy-tinted finger tips ; 
And fold thee to a faithful breast 
That loves its little lassie best. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 285 



A LOVING HEART'S LAMENT. 

All along my path of roses 

Trails the hidden serpent's track, 

Blighting, blasting flower of beauty, 
Turning light to darkness black. 

Buds of promise doomed to wither, 
Lilies pure that bloomed to fade ; 

Youthful hopes and dear hearts broken, 
Gentle wives in Death's arms laid. 

Manly souls and tender fathers, 
Lovers, friends, and kindred dear, 

All the foul fiend's black arms gather, 
Heeding not the mother's tear. 

Fathers, brothers, sisters gentle, 
All the monster's clasp enfold ; 

Life and love, and all that's sacref 
In Hell's burning cup are sold. 

Friends must perish, wives be murdered, 
Home and loved ones doomed to death, 

Hearts and hopes and spirits crushing, 
This the rum-fiend's withering breath. 

Do you wonder that I sicken, 

Telling o'er the fearful tale ? 
Will you, dare you, touch the poison ? 

Think of little wifie, pale. 

Think of all that nestle to thee, 
Think of baby, sweet and fair, 

Think of little dark eyed Bessie, 
Claiming all thy tender care. 



236 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Think of loving wifie twining - 

White arms round thy manly breast ; 

Think of father's trusting blessing, 
Think of mother, gone to rest. 

Shall her eyes in heaven be clouded 
By the tears that for thee fall? 

Shall thy father's heart be broken? 
Wilt thou give the foul fiend all ? 

Wilt thou break the heart that loves you, 
She who gave up all for thee? 

Wouldst thou rather clasp the demon, 
Drown thy soul in death's dark sea ? 

Never, never ; He will help thee ; 

Ke for you a ransom paid ; 
Break the chains of hell that bind thee ; 

Look to Him ; He'll give thee aid. 

Yet I hear you saying, alway, 
There's no danger yet for me, 

I can drink a glass in safety ; 
I'm no drunkard, you can see. 

" I can drink, or I can leave it ; 

Where's the harm I cannot find, 
I am strong, and young, and sturdy " — 

You can t see the fiend behin.1. 

Shining in the wine-cup's sparkle, 
Laughing in the foaming ale, 

Mocking in the whiskey goblet, 
You can t see the devil pale. 

Yet he's there ; too soon you'll know it, 
Sxm you'll feel his poisonous fang, 

He will strip of all that love the, 
All in whom thy life's hope-, hang. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 237 

All along life's weary pathway 

Miss I some dear friend that's lost ; 

God in heaven, our hearts are broken, 
Heavy laden, tempest tossed. 

Hear our prayer for our beloved, 

Let this Happy New Year see 
Hands enfolded, hearts united, 

Blessed year of jubilee. 

Tears of joy in dark eyes tender, 

Wife and children, friends and home, 

Loving hearts and fond embraces, 
Happy New Year's Day has come. 

Loving Father, save Thy children, 

Smite the tempter with Thy rod ; 
Stay this dead sea's gloomy billows, 

Lead us back to Heaven and God. 



THE WIFE— TO KATIE, 

In the blush of her young life I wooed her, 
The first love of her heart was mine ; 

When the roses were blooming I won her, 
A light o'er my pathway to shine. 

Her soft cheek, life a peach in its beauty, 
. Was velvety, dimpled and fair ; 
O, her sweet rounded chin was so dainty — 
Her dark eyes ucdim'med by a care. 

How lovely she looked on her bridal day, 
White flow T ers entwined her hair; 

A long misty veil, with a silver spray, 
Floating over her white arms bare. 



288 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



0, I loved her then as Hove her now, 
The years of pure joy have flown by ; 

Her voice, full of music, is murmuring low, 
^ I'll love thee, dear. Will till I die." 

There's a kiss at the gate in the morning, 
As we part for the toils of the day ; 

And a kiss of sweet welcome returning, 
To banish all care far away. 

Thus my life glides along full of pleasure, 
With Katie, my pearl and my pride ; 

And I bless God the Father forever, 
For the gift of my spotless bride. 



BROTHER. 

Killed at Fort Darling, Va., May 1 6th , 1864, Leonard G. Wiggin, 
of Portsmouth, N. II., a member of Co. D. 3d N. H. Volunteers, 

nged 24. 

He's gone to the Patriot's honored grave, 

In his Country's flag enfolded, 
And our tears fall fast for our hero brave, 

Our hearts with sorrow enshrouded. 
" Tell Mother," he cried, ere his dark eyes closed, 

" That I died for the cause of Right." 
On his comrade's broad breast his head reposed, 

Then passed to the Mansions of Light. 

They crowned his young brow with sweetest flowers ; 

Soft hands smoothed the furrows of pain ; 
Woman's sweet voice told of Eden's bowers 

Where loved ones will all meet again. 
Then they laid him to rest in his life's young day, 

Our brother, the brave and the true ; 
Sweetly he sleeps from his home far away, 

Enwrapped in the Red, White and Blue. 






SFRIGS OF ACA.CIA. 209 

LITTLE MAY LINNEAN. 

Found at the corner of Linnean street, Cambridge, on May morn- 
ing, 1882 by officer Hawkins, of Station Three. 

Upon the green and velvet sod, 

That smiling morn of May, 
The stout patrolman, on his beat, 

Just at the break of day, 

Found, lying there, the baby girl, 

Deserted and alone ; 
Perhaps the mother watched, concealed, 

To all but God unknown. 

And only known to God above, 

Her anguish sharp and keen ; 
Her breaking heart, her blighted life, 

All that she might have been. 

God knows it all. God pitied her. 

He loves and cares for all. 
And who dare say Christ's loving heart 

Is closed at woman's fall. 

God knew, and gave his angel charge 

Over the baby girl ; 
And sent his angel guardian, fair, 

To shield his precious pearl, 

For all His creatures, in His sight, 

More precious are than gold, 
Or ruby gems, or pearls of price, 

Or all earth's wealth untold. 

And so, if not a sparrow fall 

Without his tender care, 
O, soul of little faith, believe, 

His babes more precious are. 



240 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

He knows them all,< He loveth all, 
The poor, and weak, and frail ; 

The sinful, and the vilest souls, 
The sad -eyed mourners, pale. 

And in the hollow of His hand, 

I know He safely keeps 
All souls that sleep beneath the sod, 

Or lie in ocean's deeps. 

And some day, little baby May 
Shall clasp her mothei's hand. 

Some day, God knows, they'll meet again 
Upon the heavenly strand. 



THE PSALM OF LIFE. 

I sing the song of redeeming love, 
The song of the angel choirs above ; 

The song of the ransomed souls on high, 
In heaven beyond the deep blue sky. 

I sing the song of great peace and joy, 
The psalm of the blest without alloy ; 

The song my soul in that better land 

Shall sing when I press the shining strand. 

Sweet song, sweet song of the weary saint, 
That binds the broken and cheers the faint 

It lifts the lowly, sustain the poor, 
And opens to all the golden door. 

Song of the loving, song of the pure, 
Soft strains that forevermore endure ; 

Wafting my soul from the darkest night, 
Folding my spirit in robes of light. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 241 

| sing this song that the Spirit taught 
Thy soul by redeeming love was bought ; 

7 or you Christ died on the cursed tree, 
Emmanuel's blood poured out for thee. 

), wondrous love ! O, the blessed hope, 
No more shall my soul in darkness grope; 

fenging the psalm of redeeming love, 
I wait, I wait for the courts above. 

Vill He come again, all hearts to bless? 

Will He give us robes of righteousness ? 
Vill He fold us to His loving heart ? 

Will He say to none, depart ! depart ? 

), Lord, in sorrow we bow, and shame, 
We who have taken Thy holy name ; 

Ve who have lifted Thy cross to bear, 
We who are hoping Thy crown to wear. 

Vt Thy feet, dear Christ, our spirits lie, 

In penitence lift our earnest cry ; 
Hume our souls, O. Heavenly Dove ! 

Trusting alone in redeeming love. 



'•'CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR." 

How wonderful this holy calm ! 
How full, unutterably sweet 
This placid joy on Jesus' breast ! 
After the battle-field of sin, 
After the struggle, fierce and long, 
After the triumph over death, 
Comes Peace, with hallowed balm ! 

How gladness with a tranquil eye 
Surveys the field with victory crowned ! 



242 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

How Love enthroned embraces all mankind, 
And fills the world with brothers of the Heart ! 
Sweet peace of God ! thou pearl of untold price, 
O love of Christ, the Holy One and Sure, 
How doth the Comforter sustain and cheer 
Our souls with flagons of the heavenly wine 
And bread of life, bestowed by angel hands ! 



How the Great Shepherd of cur souls provides 

For all His flock the flowery meadows fair ! 

How tenderly beside the waters still 

He leads. O blessed thought ! He leads 

Our little lambs beneath the shade 

Of heaven's o'erarching trees of Life. 

Ah, Christ Consoler, how love ineffable 
Lights up thy pure celestial face ! 
How doth the glory of thy holy eyes 
Shine down through all our guilt and shame 
Into our inner heart of hearts, 
And kindle on the spirit's altar there 
A hallowed fire of sacrificial grace, 
Consuming all the dross of sinful lust, 
And leaving naught but gold — 
Fine gold, tried in the flame. 



IMMANUEL. 



He came at midnight's solemn hour, 
And stood besidt my bed, 

And with a still small voice of power 
These words to me He said : 

" Spirit immortal, I have paid 

A fearful price for thee, 
On Me thy guilt and sins were laid, 

Remember Calvary. 



SFRIGS OF ACACIA. 243 

" 0, I have loved thee with a love 

Thou canst not understand, 
Descended from My throne above, 

To clasp thee by the hand. 

" I am thy elder brother, soul ; 

I've watched thy erring feet, 
To lead thee safely, precious soul, 

Up to the golden street. 

" I ask of thee but this, dear soul, 

Give Me thy wayward heart — 
Give Me the undivided whole, 

I cannot take a part. 

I cannot take unless thou wilt; 

'Tis thou must choose My love, 
And I have borne thy shame and guilt, 

Spirit, no longer rove ; 

" Come to these arms, enfolded close 

Thou' It never know a fear, 
Upon My bosom find repose, 

Repose without a tear. 

" My lccks with dew of night are wet, 

I'm knocking at the door, 
I may not enter, soul ; and yet — 

Have often knocked before. 

" Wilt open unto Me to-night ? 

I may not come again, 
At heaven's gate of golden light, 

Thou' It knock, alas ! in vain." 

The still small voice I heard no more, 

Whispering its words of love ; 
I only know, through open door, 

Entered the " Holy Dove." 



24 4 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



0, midnight hour, so calm and still ; 

O, kiss of peace and grace, 
Help us, dear Christ, to do Thy will, 

At last to see Thv face. 



BROTHER I.ENNY. 



On the banks of Piseataqua's rushing wave 

Dwelt the widow's hope and pride, 
In the joyous strength of his manhood's young day 

He laved in the crystal tide. 



He gazes no 



lore on the vine-clad cot, 
The river's a darker hue, 
For 'tis a crimson tide that he bathes in now 
As the conflict hotter grew. 



Close, close to the high rampart's bristling side 

With his dark eyes blazing now, 
And his midnight hair is bright with his gore, 

As he deals the fatal blow. 

See ! onward, still onward, he presses his way, 

He stands on the rampart grave, 
One wild, glad hurrah on the breeze is borne, 

Then pierced is the true heart brave. 



See ! the pale lips are parted and bending lew, 

He whispers these words that fall, 
" Tell mother I died for the right and the true,' 



Hark ! I heai 



.he bugle call. 



Now the deep dark eyes flash as with beating heart 

He heareth the bugle sweet, 
And nevermore throbbed the brave heart on earth, 

The life-pulse ceased to beat. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 243 

'Twas the music of angels that filled the air, 

And the bugle's distant strain 
Was the harps of the harpers clustering round, 

Waiting to bear him from pain 

To the home of the blessed, in light and peace, 

To fields of emerald hue, 
To his crown of gold, and his robing of white, 

The rest of the brave and the true. 



DARWIN. 



O, what a blessed privilege 

Ascended from a monkey ! 
It makes a fellow feel his oats, 

And fly around so hunky. 

They say, when first the world began, 

Pa Adam was an ape ; 
That Mamma Eve had a faux pas 

With a pre-Adamic snake. 

Vv T hich proves her quite beyond a doub: 

Originally beast ; 
Or, at the best, a charming thing 

Of spongy fungus-yeast. 

If Adam was a Chimpanzee, 

And Eve ourang-outang, 
Then Cain was only following out 

Wise Nature's lovely plan. 

He, Mr. Darwin, if you please, 

Was of a higher grade ; 
And really was the neatest thing 
Dame Nature yet had made. 
16 



248 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

We may suppose he had a fleece 

Of velvet, jetty black ; 
And that his caudal appendage 

Kinked sweetly o'er his back. 

His teeth, no doubt, were milky white, 

Nail; fashionably long ; 
A very intellectual head, 

Or Nature did him wrong. 

Abel, of course, was white as snow 

His fur was soft as floss ; 
His eyes were darkly, deeply blue, 

His tail a total loss. 

And thus, you see, the world began 
With races black and white, 

And to this day we plainly see 
This truth as clear as light. 

From hide to skin is not so strange, 
Wool heads and hair is neat ; 

The colors rapidly got mixed ; 
Instead of paws grew feet. 

Dear Nature is a matchless dame, 
If thus she formed us men. 

Of course there is no room for doubt : 
Far stranger things have been. 

Sometimes we feel it's possible 

The Bible may be true ; 
Of grades below the Angel throng 

We're only just a few. 

And in His image made He man, 
Perfect and good and pine ; 

But then, you know, great Darwin says 
Of this he's not so sure. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 247 

Of course he knows all sciences, 

All things above, below ; 
And so the Holy Writ divine 

Has really no show. 

O, what a glorious pedigree ! 

A monkey for our pater ! 
Ourang-outang, or chimpanzee, 

Our pretty ring-tailed mater / 



THE THREE GRACES. 

One hath deep eyes of midirgh*: 
That burn and glow and warm, 

Like diamonds in the starlight, 

With their passion and their charm. 

Long lashes droop and tremble 

Above her orbs of night, 
Or veil their heavenly luster 

So full of soft delight. 

Her hair in glossy darkness 

Outvies the raven's wing, 
The crowning, lustrous glory 

Which poet's love to sing. 

With figure like a Juno 

And carriage of a queen, 
My dark brunette is lovely 

As an houri, I ween. 

One hath soft eyes of hazel, 
And chestnut coils of hair, 

With braids of massy splendor 
In rich luxuriance rare. 



248 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Her high, pale brow in beauty 
Seems fit to wear a crown, 

Her tender, gentle glances 

Have a sweetness all their own. 

My blonde hath hair all golden 
Like sunshine on the lea, 

Her eyes are like the ether 
Or the sapphire of the sea. 

My blonde hath lips of scarlet, 
Her teeth are seeds of pearl, 

Her laughter's rippling gladness, 
She's the bonny, bonny girl. 

Her voice is charming music, 
Her bright eyes dance with glee, 

You may take the other graces, 
Only leave my blonde for me. 



ECCE HOMO." 



How can I tell his beauty fair 
Who have not seen his face ; 

How can I picture Christ to you, 
That feels his heavenly grace ? 

I know His voice is low and sweet, 

And full of tender love, 
And that His care encircleth thee 

With Angels of the Dove. 

I know that on His yearning heart 
Sometimes my head reclines, 

Yet can not gaze upon His face, 
Where Love transfigured shines. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 249 

I know Immanuel hath no crown 

Of thorns about His brow ; 
No agony or burning tears. 

As when He lived below. 

I love to picture Christ my Lord, 

Encrowning his dear head 
With stany diadem of souls, 

Arisen from the dead. 

His feet no rugged nail-prints show, 

His hands a scepter hold — 
Around the Throne the holy throng 

Redeemed by grace untold. 

Christ is not dead. He lives for thee, 

To intercede above. 
Receive within thy heart to-day 

The Master and His love. 



A WEDDING GIFT. 



We come to give you merry greeting, 
That in the wedded paths of life 

Your joys may last, your sorrows fleeting ; 
All free from care and pain, or strife. 

May you, in all your wedded life, 
Cling closely to each other's side ; 

And through this earthly vale of tears, 
In faith and h )pe and love abide. 

There is no joy you may not share — 
No, prospects, in your future bright — 

And in thy wedded life, so fair, 

Sweet love shall make thy labor light. 



230 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

So hand in hand and heart to heart 
We bid you on your journey go ; 

Whom love hath joined may never part, 
Through all the path of life below. 

We are thy friends all tried and true ; 

We're glad to share our joys with thee. 
If storms arise or skies be blue, 

Thou hast our love and sympathy. 

We come to give thee merry greeting ; 

We come with joy and mirth and song, 
A friendly band together meeting : 

God grant thee happy lives and long. 



TABITHA JANE." 



Sweet Tabitha Jane was a feline maid, 
With a full dress Maltese suit, 

Her lover Jim Crow was a handsome coon; 
As black as a darkey's boot. 

Tom Gay was an artful dodger, round, 

On every moon-lit night, 
He sang with a lovely tenor voice, 

And was Tabitha's heart's delight. 

Jim Crow was a basso of high renown, 

He sang a falsetto, too ; 
Was mortally jealous of Thomas Gay, 

His rival, he certainly knew. 

They met last night on the promenade, 

And were freezingly polite ; 
Jim's old tail was a thing to see, 

He was spoiling for a fight. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 231 

And Thomas Gay just humped himself, 

Expressing his high disdain, 
Wnile Tabitha Jane with a coaxing miavv, 

Cuddled up to her favorite swain. 

When old Jim warbled his tale of love, 

In his deepest double bass, 
That feline flirt with an eye of fire, 

Just spit in the old coon's face. 

'Twas the ol'd, old story of love and hate, 

With a female in the muss, 
It ended just like all the rest, 

la a terrible feline fuss. 

Old Jim came out like a dead-eyed Dick, 

And Tabitha Jane, the fair, 
Took a bridal tour with Thomas Gay, 

Both of their tails in the air. 



THE REPORTER'S CHRISTMAS. 

'Twas Christmas Eve in the station there, 

All weary and lonely and sad, 
The little reporter, with heavy heart, 

Was trying so hard to feel glad. 

His burden was moie than his soul could bear, 

For his lot was full of care, 
He was thinking of wifie and little boy blue, 

And the dimpled baby fair. 

He said to himself: " It is Christmas time, 

My cottage is joyless and bare, 
No evergreen-tree with its precious gifts, 

No Santa Claus will be there. 



232 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

The little boy blue, will look in vain, 

In his stocking for dainties rare; 
The blue-eyed baby will get no toys ; 

The wifie will sigh with care." 

And, as he thought of the days gone by, 

His heart grew bitter and sore ; 
" Nobody cares for me to-night, 

And the wolf is at the door." 

In the midst of his grieving, a manly voice 

Awoke him as from a dream ; 
'Twas the Captain a clasping his trembling hand, 

And his dark eyes joyous gleam. 

Cheer up little man and look not so bad, 

Don't look so sorry and blue, 
The boys on the force from the chieftain down, 

Have all been thinking of you. 

Then he laid in the hand his fingers clasped, 

The gift of the " Boys in Blue," 
For you know they have hearts in their stalwart frames, 

That are faithful and brave and true. 

'Twas a sweet surprise, and his heart grew light, 

As his purse got heavy with gold, 
And he tried to speak, but his voice was faint, 

So his eyes the story told,. 

And they said quite plain, thro' a mist of tears, 

I thank you dear boys in my heart, 
My soul is gladdened, my spirit light, 

You have bidden my sorrow depart. 

So the Christmas came to the little cot, 

The boy's glad laughter rang ; 
The blue-eyed baby just crowed with glee ; 

The wifie a carol sang. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 253 

Even Tabitha Jane, the Grossest old cat, 

Made up with her daughter straight, 
And lovingly patted Jemima's face, 

And told her patiently wait. 

" For to-morrow was Christmas, and pickings rare, 

Would fall to their happy lot, 
You must know that was turkey I smelt just now," 

And she gave her a kiss on the spot. 

So the Christ-Child smiled, and an angel fair, 

Flew in at the cottage door ; 
And the grim old wolf, with an angry howl, 

Ran off, and was seen no more. 



'•'HOME." 

Beautiful home of my childhood days, 

Beautiful city with verdure clad, 

Beautiful trees whose swaying arms 

And dainty tapering fingers arch 

With curving grace thy sylvan streets. 

River of Life that flowes to the Sea, 

Never the Frost King's arctic breath 

Had power to check thy eddying flow; 

Life in thy arteries boundeth free. 

So full thy bosom's swelling tide, 

Thy living waters come and go 

As beats thy mighty ocean heart. 

Like blushes on a maiden's cheek, 

As from the fountain pure of life, 

The quick, warm flush of youth and hope 

Mantles the stainless face so fair, 

Art cannot paint the fleeting charm — 

No more can I Piscataqna's beauty trace, 

Depict in burning words in charm and grace. 

Dear home of youth, long years have flown 



234 SPRIGS OF ACaCIA. 

Since I have seen thy well-beloved face, 

Old friends and playmates gone before. 

Have left thy Lowered streets, — to-day 

Beneath their golden-sandalltd feet — 

The crystal avenues of heaven, 

Died in the faith their fathers taught, 

Sleeping in peace, their mortal bodies lie, 

To wake at last immortal bodies pure — 

Rejoin immortal souls that could not die, 

Since of God can death destroy. 

O blessed Faith ! O precious Hope ! 

This world so desolate would be, 

Without thy radiant presence here. 

Faith cheered our fathers in their toil, 

And Hope, sweet Hope, illumes with light — 

All the dark valley's shadow cf the tomb. 

So may we rest, whene'er tha angel comes, 

Our placid forms thy vernal mantle shield, 

Not dead — but sleeping quietly at last, 

Beside the ever- living stream. 

'Twill chant our requiem softly to the stars — 

Whose wakeful eyes watch out the night of death, 

Lord keep his gentle memory green. 



DELVENE. 



Dost know a sweet-voiced woman, friend, 
That trills the songs thy heart enshrines, 

Who laughs at care and pain, dear friend, 
That at no loss save love repines ? 
Thou knowest Delvene. 

Fair flowing hair of golden light 
Entwines thy happy face, Delvene ; 

Thy sea-blue eyes' mild lustre, bright, 
But shadows forth thine heart, Delvene, 
Mine own Delvene. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 233 

Red curved lips, whose glow, Delvene, 
Pales the soft bloom upon thy cheed, 

Part to disclose seed pearls, Djlvene, 
Pure as thy lovely spirit meek, 
White-souled Delvene. 



WEDDED LOVE. 



The peaceful years have gently rolled away, 
On golden chariot's silver wheels of Time ; 
His milk-white steeds of love and joy 
Have borne us to this festal day. 
The past, so full of memories sweet, 
Seems but a happy vision of the night, 
Or beauteous day-dreams of the better land, 
Full of the promised peace and rest divine. 

The unknown way we entered on in hope, 
United in fair Hymen's jewelled bands, 
Hath been replete with harmony and joy ; 
All the white buds of glorious promise fair, 
Have blossomed into sweetest fragrance rare. 
The May-bloom on the many-fruited trees, 
That grew along the verdant pathway bright, 
Hath turned to blushing nectars bright and sweet. 
The joy-birds sang a tender song divine, 
The skies were blue, the sun shone bright, 
Just twenty years ago, our wedding-day. 

The joy-birds' song of harmony still breaks 
Upon our ears, as on that peaceful morn, 
The sky's cerulean hues of light and joy 
Still spread their radiant banners there. 
The sun still shines, and all the golden days 
On silvery pinions floating, pass away. 
Still, side by side within our chariot fair, 
We sit, my wife, with loving folded hands, 



236 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

The snowy steeds keep time with steppings gay 
Unto the cadence of their golden bells. 
And all the glad harmonious notes of joy 
That fill the great Cathedral of the world, 
Blend into one grand chorus full and free : 
The wedding-march of souls in union sweet ; 
The psalm of life for hearts that beat as one. 

So hand in hand, we'll pass our peaceful days ; 
The blending of our lives a blessing sweet ; 
The wedding-garments of our joys and hopes, 
Unspotted from the world of strife and care. 
The jewelled crown of life, and love and trust, 
Upon our brows shall shine forevermore, 
Because whom He hath joined in sacred ties, 
No power in earth, or sky or sea, 
Can sever wedded love's white bands divine, 
For all of time and Heaven's eternity. 



AN INVOCATION 

FOR OUR BELOVED PRESIDENT GARFIED. 

God of our fathers, throned in light, 
God of all grace and mercy free, 
A nation at Thy footstool bows, 
And offers up its heart's desire ; 
That in Thy perfect wisdom, Thou — 
Whom all adore with love and awe, 
Will give us back to life and love 
Our well-beloved President. 

Out of the valley and the shades of death ; 
Back from the borders of the silent land ; 
Let him return ; to fill a nation's heart 
With joy and gladness and tranquility. 
All nations lift their eyes to Thee ; 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 257 



Crowned heads, and all the mighty powers, 
Lift up their trembling hands in prayer ; 
Laying aside their sceptres and their crowns, 
With heads uncovered, in Thy presence bow. . 
And still the prayer of nations doth ascend ; 
The peasant in his cot, the farmer brown, 
The artizan and the scholar, all 
Unite in ceaseless prayer to God, for him, 
Our well-nigh martyred President. 

Like fragrant incense to Thine altar fair, 

O God, ascends the world's great prayer, 

For one dear precious son of Thine. 

Baptized in blood, made pure in flame ; 

No human powers of art or skill, 

Can now avail our Garfield to restore ; 

Only the Great Physicians' s tenderest care, 

Only the loving kindness of a God's grace, 

Only the healing touch of Him who framed 

That bruised and broken body lying low, 

Can speak the word that life and strength impart. 

Sweet faith hath opened wide her pinions white, 

And on her spotless bosom folded, lies 

The nation's prayer, and to Thy throne ascends, 

And lays her precious burden at Thy shining feet. 

O God the Father, God the Son, 

O blessed Trinity of Love and Peace and Life, 

Hear our sad cry for help divine ; 

We "come to Thee, all other hope is vain; 

We come to Thee, because Thine open ear 

Is listening always for Thy children's cries ; 

Like as a father pitieth children dear ; 

So the " AH Father " care th for His own. . 

Much more than earthly parent's tender care, 
Is the Great Love that gave an only Son 
To suffer death, that all-redeeming grace 






238 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Might fill a world with hope and peace divine. 
Wilt Thou not hear, when prostrate lies 
At death's dark door our Country's pride? 
Will He not hear ? Ah, yes, our prayer is heard, 
And in His own good time He will restore. 
Or else in love and mercy leading, guide 
With hand enclasped in His broad palm, 
A peaceful soul all glorified and fair, 
Along the path illumed with hope and joy, 
Unto the golden portals of immortal life. 



RACHEL.' 



What shall I say of " Ma petite Rachel," 
Voice like the musical tones of a bell, 
Sweet as the roses and fair as the dawn, 
Graceful and skndcr, my gentle white fawn. 
'• Ma joli, Ma joli Rachel." 

Her eyes beaming softly with purity's rays, 
Blue as the skies in the bright summer days, 
Shading her white brow — the shining gold hair 
Caresseth the snow of her shoulders so fair. 
" Ma charmante, Ma charmante Rachel." 

What shall Isay of the ripe scarlet lips, 
Full of the honey-dew no one else sips ; 
Dimpled round chin and neck of the swan, 
Spotless white bosom my head leans upon — 
" Angelique ! Angelique Rachel ?" 

What shall I say of the marvelous hands, 
Arms that are twining my neck in white bands? 
Ever I worship thee — queen of delight — 
Radiant and glorious star of the night— 
Delicat delicat Rachel. 



SFRIGS OF ACACIA. 239 



" LITTLE PITCHER." 

There's nothing on earth like religion 

If a person has any to show, 
And we hold with the tightest grip, sir, 

The truths that we happen to know. 
Our faith is pinned on to the prophets, 

The Bible, and that sort of thing, 
Quite sure that the white-pinioned angels 

Hover round us with blessings they bring. 

Of course you have heard of the " Boy," sir, 

Well, the boy is our burden of song, 
Just four-year-old, to a dot, sir, 

Beautiful, plump-limbed, and strong; 
Tender, loving, and dimpled, 

With laughter and childish delight, 
And we've taught him to say, " Blessed Jesus, 1 

Just to keep his pure soul white. 

He can sing like a Methodist preacher, 

Shout " Glory " as loud as you please, 
Night and morn " Little Pitcher" devoutly 

Remembers us all, on his knees, 
" God bess my dear papa and mamma, 

Little sister's in heaven, not here ; 
Dod bess 'ittle I, wot is naughty — 

Dod bess evrybody, oh dear." 

He is proud of his wonderful breeches, 

Calls attention of all to the fit ; 
If you call him a nice little baby, 

He'll immediately " git up and git." 
He never saw any terbacker, 

Knows nothing of swearing and strife, 
We hope by the blessing of God, sir, 

He'll know just as much all his life. 



230 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



And we also believe that the angels 

Delight in his innocent charms, 
We safely and lovingly trust Him 

Who carries the lambs in his arms, 
To prosper, defend, and enfold him, 

When we placidly sleep with the dead. 
God bless " Little Pitcher," our darling- 

We say it with uncovered head. 



"THE HEAVENLY GUEST." 

" I was a stranger, and ye touk me in," 

Hungry and desolate, downcast and poor, 
Burdened and weary, sorrowful and sad, 

Thy heart oped wide its angel-guarded door. 

I was a stranger, ye took me in, 

Healed the bruised spirit, raised the drooping head ; 
Thy hand was open, generous as thy grace, 

Clothing the naked, giving the hungry bread. 



I was a stranger, still ye took me in, 

And inasmuch as one of these, my lambs, 

Ye ministered unto with trusting faith, 
Even so receive a blessing from my hands. 

Even so tnv heart's wide open door, 

Recei vetn angels from the courts of light ; 

Even so thy spirit greets the heavenly Guest, 
And j >y and love illume thy pathway bright, 

" I was a stranger, and ye took me in ;" 
Thou hast within exceeding great reward, 

And when thou knockest at the gate of pearl, 
He'll bid thee enter in, thy loving Lord. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 231 

THE SWEET SINGER OF PARADISE. 

When A::ael sings his song to me, 
Across fair Jordan's purple sea, 
My spirit from its harden free 
Shall answer to his call. 

He sings such strains of soft delight, 
He tells me of the robings white 
0/ that glad world where is no night, 
Or dark funereal pall. 

And all my soul goes out in prayer ; 
O mighty Azrael, take me where 
There is no night of pain and care, 
But everlasting day ! 



He sings and charms my soul away 

From out its prison-house of clay, 

A solemn, sweet, and heavenly lay 

Of love and joy and rest. 

So while he sings my soul away 
Unto the realms of perfect day, 
I fold my placid hands, and say, 
I come, I come, to thee. 

So, listening to that tender psalm, 
Of robe and crown and waving palm, 
lie doth my wayworn spirit charm, 
And folds me to his breast. 

And then on burnished pinions bright, 
Up to the home of pure delight 
He beareth my glad soul in white, 

Unto the golden gate. 
*7 



262 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

When Azracl sings his song to thee, 
Across bright Jordan's purple sea, 
Thy soul shall rise forever free 
And live forevermore. 

Thy ransomed spirit in that land 
Will join the angel-chorus grand ; 
With golden-sandaled feet shall stand 
Before Immanuel's throne. 

Thy soul shall find her loved ones there, 
With palm and crown and robings fair, 
Transfigured faces, haloed hair, 
Singing that song divine, — 

Of Him who dLd yet lives again, 
The Christ of sorrow, Christ of pain, 
Whose blood hath cleansed from every stain, 
The blessed Paschal Lamb. 

O spirit of the Heavenly Dove, 
Illume our souls with peace and love, 
That we may sing with joy above 
The psalm of endless life ! 



THE CARNIVAL OF AUTHORS. 

In a splendid hall with its banners gay, 
A bower of beauty, where lovers stray, 
Where the sound of the golden bugles sweet 
Calls out the dancers with fairy feet. 
To the dulcet notes of a witching strain, 
They pass before us again and again ; 
There's Faust, with his beautiful Marguerite, 
With her amber hair and dainty feet. 
Now Romeo passes with Juliet, 






ST RIGS OF ACACIA. 263 

He's whispering the sweet old story yet ; 

The moor of Venice, with stately mien, 

Fair Desdemona in silvery sheen. 

Now Jenny Wren, with her faithful Riah, 

King Henry the VIH, in royal attire, 

The Queen and her court pass slowly by, 

A vision of splendid pageantry. 

There's noble Ham, Little Emily sweet, 

Sairey Gamp and that Betsey Prim, so neat ; 

With Betsey Trotwood, and David so fine, 

Barkis and Peggoty in honeymoon time. 

The Artful Dodger and Uriah Heep, 

Mrs. Micawber, with the twins asleep; 

Mr. Micawber is just out of jail, 

Has given his creditor fine straw bail. 

Is looking about for a chance to invest, 

Something's sure to turn up, its all for the best, 

To-morrow he smarts for the sea breeze of Dover, 

And Mrs. Micawber is sure to slop over. 

She'll drop both the twins in the flabbiest way, 

And flop on the breast of Micawber the gay. 

There's Mr. Dick with his monster kite, 

And pretty Janet, in a robe of white ; 

Tilly S'owboy with her doll of rags, 

And Fagin the Jew, and his money bags. 

Poor Mawther Gummidge just ready to cry, 

Good Dan'l Peggoty wiping her eye. 

Now old Mother Hubbard, just from her cupboard, 

Is giving her doggie a bone ; 

And little Bo-peep, who lost her sheep, 

Comes trotting along alone. 

There's Old King Cole, the jolliest soul 

With all his fiddler's three, 

Calls out for his pipe and his flowing bowl, 

And goes on a tearing old spree. 

Little Miss Mary, quite contrary, 

With flowers all set in a row, 

Is out with her water-pot, looking so sweet, 

A watching her garden grow. 



264 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

There's the old woman that lived in a shoe, 
And all the children, a ravenous crew. 
Giving them treacle without any bread, 
Wishing no doubt they all were dead. 
Horrid old Squeers, with Smike all in tears, 
And red-headed Fanny, all smiles appears. 
Vile Mother Squeers with her treacle and spoon, 
Is followed by Nickleby walking alone. 
And thus the gay pageant goes marching along, 
A picture of life with its sorrow and song, 
And the bugles of gold, with a cadence sweet, 
Keep time for the march of the fairy feet. 



HIGH MASS AT ST. AUGUSTINE'S. 

The sun shone bright thro' tinted windows high, 

Illuming all the holy place ; 
It fell on iaces dark and faces fair; 

On all it shed a heavenly grace. 

The pictured saints beneath their starry dome 
Look down upon the faithful there — 

St. Martin, with his smiling, sable face ; 
St. Augustine, with shining golden hair. 

The sunlight gilded sinless Mary's crown, 
And kissed the lovely Christ-child's cheek; 

It shed a halo fair round Joseph's brow, 
And glorified the poor and meek. 

And so a blessing fell on all the place, 

The benediction of the cross, 
The peace that passeth all of mortal ken ; 

That counts all earthly things but dross. 

The tapers shone upon the altar high, 
On ebon acolytes in vestments fair, 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 263 

While swinging censer's incense misty cloud 
Shed subtle fragrance strange and iare. 

And on its balmy wings uprose the prayers 
Of Ethiop's sons and daughters meek, 

Of Norman, Celt, and Saxon maidens fair, 
With eyes of blue, rose tinted cheek, — 

Uprose on pinions white of faith and love 
Unto the great All Father's throne, 

Unto the listening ear of Christ divine, 
The Christ of Love, who did atone. 



LA BAL MASQUE. 



In a splendid hall with its banners gay, 
A bower of beauty where lovers stray ; 
Where the sound of the golden bugles sweet 
Calls out the dancers, with fairy feet; 
To the dulcet notes of a witching strain, 
They pass before us again and again. 
There is Faust, with his beautiful Marguerite, 
With her golden locks and her dainty feet. 
Hath he sold his soul for the maiden's dower 
Of love and beauty in pleasure's bower ? 
See, Romeo passes with Juliet, 
He's whispering the sweet old story yet. 
And the Moor of Venice, with stately mien ; 
Fair Desdamona, in silvery sheen. 
Now Venus comes with her snowy dove, 
With rosy Cupid, the god of love. 
She's crowned with a chaplet of roses fair — 
The queen of the revel, with amber hair. 
W T herever she moves with a stately grace, 
Close by, sly Cupid, with laughing face. 
And maidens sweet, with the dainty feet, 
With loving faces his presence greet ; 



230 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

While the sweet hearts gay sing a roundelay, 

And steal his arrows in merry play. 

For well they know, though Love is blind, 

His rosy shaft will be sure to find 

A resting place in their hearts some day, 

And love sit throned with a tender sway. 

See now, in the train of the goddess fair, 

Is the Queen of Night, with her raven hair. 

The star of the evening is on her brow, 

Her robe is as white as the drifted snow. 

Now sweet Little Buttercup, pride of the sea, 

Sings Pinafore ditties right merrily. 

She hangs on the arm of an amorous Cop, 

With love in his eyes, just ready to pop. 

She is charming as ever, the Buttercup sweet, 

With the rosiest cheeks and the prettiest feet ; 

While the amorous Coppy hath Cupid's dart 

Transfixed in his liver pad over his heart, 

And still they come, in the Goddess train, 

'] he charming Prince and the Gypsey Queen. 

And Cinderella, in her shoes of glass, 

With her sisters so spiteful scornfully pass. 

But the Prince of the field of the cloth of gold 

Loves dear Cinderella with bliss untold. 

Now the real Governor of Way Down East, 

With sword undrawn, calls out for a beast ; 

A stalwart son of the Pine Tree State, 

He always calls for his bitters straight. 

In the midst of the brilliant flashing throng 

The Princess of Night and the Queen of Song ; 

The Shepherdess clad in her garments white, 

The Blue Bell fair and dear Heart's Delight, 

The elephant huge, with his trunk and tail, 

And the tall giraffe, so thin and pale. 

Dear Fatinitza, in pants and veil, 

Makes love to the Count, in a coat of mail, 

While the Cavalier, in his doublet fine, 

Pays court to the Morning Star divine, 

And last of all, exceedingly neat, 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 267 

The gay old buck with the cloven feet, 
A handsome duffer, with a pointed tail, 
An eye of fire and a cheek so pale. 
Exceedingly fond of the Queen of Hearts, 
Who was caught on the fly by his fiery darts. 
So the brilliant throng still floats around 
To the notes of the golden bugles sound ; 
With the soft bright eyes of the maidens sweet, 
With their lips of red and their dainty feet, 
While the loving song of the sweet hearts gay 
Rings out like a merry roundelay ; 
And hearts are lost and heart are won, 
While Love, dear Love, sits on his throne. 



"WHEN JESUS COMES AGAIN." 

A CHRISTMAS PSALM OF LIFE. 

The stars shone soft ard bright, 
The moon with lambent light, 
Looked down on Bethkh.-m's plain, 
Earth sang a low refrain 

As down the path of light 
Sweet angels all in white, 
And jewelled harps of gold, 
With song of joy untold, 

Came on their pinions bright, 
A vision of delight, 
Chanting with voices sweet, 
The Christ-Child haste to greet. 

He comes, he comes to earth, 
The babe of kingly birth, 
The Father's Only Son 
Hath left His jasper throne 



268 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

To save the world from loss, 
Upon the cruel cross, 
With thorny crown of pain, 
And Calvary's sad refrain. 

They're singing still to-day, 
Where silvery? fountains play, 
And palms of beauty rise, 
Beneath the cloudless skies. 

And when the moon's soft beams, 
A radiant glory streams, 
Adown the heavenly street, 
Descend the angels sweet. 

The psalm of life eternal, 
Of joy and peace supernal, 
" Your Christ shall come again," 
Their holy, happy strain. 

He'll come again in glory, 
The blessed Gospel story, 
Our dead in Christ shall rise 
And meet Him in the skies. 

Our Christ shall come again, 
No sorrow, toil or pain, 
With ransomed souls in white, 
And bodies full of light. 

When Jesus comes, what joy ! 
What bliss without alloy ! 
What songs of love divine ! 
How star bright crowns will shine ! 

"When Jesus comes, what peace ! 
From Death a last release, 
A life that knows no end, 
In worship sweet to spend. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 260 

When Jesus coir.es, what rest, 
What leanings on His breast; 
No tears to wipe away — 
To praise, and never pray. 

When Jesus comes, at last, 
All earthly things o'erpast, 
With Heaven's unclouded sky, 
He's coming by and by. 

He's coming through the Gate, 
His holy dead can wait ; 
The slumbers of the just 
Are full of perfect trust. 

And they who still remain, 
When Jesus comes again, 
His face in peace will see, 
From earthly garments free. 

Oh, yes, he'll come again ; 
How sweet the glad refrain, 
To wipe all tears away, 
And ope the Gates of Day. 

Yes, yes, He'll come again, 
The shepherds of the plain 
Who hailed his natal star, 
Shall see the gates unbar. 

And they who ne'er have seen 
And yet have faithful been 
Shall, shouting, enter in, 
And palms of victory win. 

Dear Lord, in that great day 
May we with triumph say, 
" The battle I have fought, 
Thy blood my soul hath bought." 



270 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

A PSALM OF PEACE. 

FOR OUR MARTYRED PRESIDENT CAKFIELD. 

The solemn bells of midnight tolled 

A fearful note of pain and woe, 

The night patrolman on his lonely round, 

Heard the sad sound and waited for the alarm 

A minute passed, and once again 

The deep-toned bell upon the startled air 

Sent forth another tearful sigh of pain, 

From out its stricken, throbbing heart; 

And then the stout patrolman knew, 

It was no call to flames and ruined homes ; 

It was the coronach of his departed soul, 

Our well-beloved martyred President. 

And still the r.j id night bell sent forth 

Its heavy sighs and filled the quiet night 

With nameless horror, anguish and dismay, 

Rousing the peaceful sleepers from their happy dreams 

In sudden fright, until the stricken bell, 

Wailed out another note of solemn sound, 

And then the nation knew its fearful loss. 

Ah ! many eyes wept softly at the sound, 

And all the people breathed an earnest prayer 

For that brave soul upon the ocean vast, 

Of God's eternity of boundless love. 

Set free from pain and every earthly ill, 
His peaceful spirit trusting all to Him, 
Went forth at last a conqueror over Death. 
Went forth in faith and hope of endless life. 
Went forth with visions of the better land, 
Unto his martyr's crown of immortality. 
His welcome home to his Redeemer's breast, 
To hear Him saying with His tender voice : 
" Well done thou good and faithful soul ! 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 271 

Well done beloved ! enter in unto 
Thy great reward of heavenly joys divine, 
For thou hast fought the glorious fight of faith, 
Art more than conqueror over sin and death, 
Henceforth for thee no pain or anguish keen, 
But evermore, the peaceful heavenly rest, 
Forevermore, immortal life and love." 

And still the solemn bell sent forth 

Its wailing notes for a departed soul. 

But as we listened to the fearful sound, 

An undertone of gladness seemed to say : 

" O stricken souls, wipe off your falling tears ! 

O saddened hearts, be very still, and know 

His mighty Will must evermore be done, 

On Earth as it is done in Heaven ; 

For what now seemeth grevious to be borne, 

And fills the world with sadness and dismay, 

Shall prove a priceless blessing to the Land he loved, 

And all the earth shall know Jehovah reigns." 



"VIA CRUCIS, VIA LUCIS." 

By the way of the Cross came heavenly light 

Like a beam of glorious day, 
It pierced through the darkness and gloom of night, 

And the shadows fled away. 

By the way of the Cross came per;< e and love — 

Those angels of life divine ; 
By the hidden way from the courts abov^, 

They entered this soul of mine. 

They washed it white with baptismal tears, 

They robed it in silver sheen, 
They banished the doubts and the torturing fears, 

And showed me the pastures green. 



£72 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

They said, " Dear soul, by the way of the Cross, 

Ascend to thy spirit's rest, 
Refined in the furnace from earthly dross, 

We'll lead thee unto His breast." 

And {here in my spirit's inner shrine, 

Is a cross on an altar white, 
And it burns with the flame of the life divine, 

With the glory of heavenly light. 

For the lamp on the sacred altar fair, 

Once lit by the Master's hand, 
Burns evermore softly, brightly there, 

Till we reach the shining strand. 

'Tis a spark from the altar of love divine, 

It burns with a holy flame, 
Refining the soul till the sacred sign — 

The glorious mystic Name — 

Is placed on the brow of the spirit free, 

Engraven on gems of light ; 
By the way of the Cross and the crimson sea 

The spirits are walking in white. 

By the way of the Cross, no other way, 
Leads straight to the throne of God ; 

Look away, sweet soul, to the Cross, to-day, 
And bow 'neath the chastening rod. 

And the angels will come from the golden street, 
By the way of the Cross of Christ, 

And sing the song of the seraphs sweet, 
Dispersing the clouds and mist. 

And thy spirit shall waken from sinful night 

And shine with a beauty fair, 
Thy heart be filled with a glad delight, 

The joy of the ransomed there. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 273 

"WHAT OF THE NIGHT?" 

Wh.it of the nigh 1 :, watchman, faithful and true, 
Everything quiet and peaceful to-night ? 

Pacing the round; of your wearisome beat, 
Keeping the peace till the morning light. 

Keeping the peace of the slumbering town ; 

Safeguard; of millions, protectors from harm, 
Faithful and true to your infinite trust, 

Sweetly we sleep, with rut fear or alarm. 

Knowing that down in our guardian's breasts, 
Beateth stout hearts, that never knew fear i 

Hands that are willing, and tireless feet, 

Keepeth our peace till the dawn doth appear. 

Honest and brave, ever faithful and true, 
Men of the people, who lay in thy hand ; 

All they hold dear, in a world of distrust, 
Flonoring men of the blue coated band. 

Angels of light, 'mid the darkness and glonm, 
Shield with your pinions, and sabres of flame , 

Watch o'er their safety, their honor and life, 
Guard them from evil and sorrow and blame. 

They are fathers with children so gentle and fair, 
Loving them tenderly, long for the dawn ; 

Relieved from the tramp of his wearisome round, 
He'll come to his home in the early morn. 

Gathering round him with laughter and song, 
They cling to his hands, they lie on his breast ; 

The sweet little wife, with smiling content, 
Singing a song with her spirit at rest. 

Out of the darkness and perils of night, 
Husband in safety hath come to his own ; 



274 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Her heart is so light, her spirit is free, 

Father has come, and slv.'s no more alone. 

Honor the faithful, the tried, and the true, 
Keeping the peace of the slumbering town ; 

Keeping the peace thro' the heat of the day, 
Keeping the peace till the sun goeth down. 



BEN BLUE-EYE.— (a la pinafore.) 

Kind readers, I've important information, 
Sing hey, the gentle people that you are, 

About a certain intimate relation, 

Sing hey, the little blue eye and his ma, 
The merry, merry babie and his pa. 

A rare conundrum both, of whom I am speaking, 
Sing hey, the mystic babie and his ma, 

The real answer, vainly I've been seeking, 
Sing hey, the pretty babie and his ma, 
The very, very image of his pa. 

Dear readers, don't you always be a sighing, 
Sing hey, the simple people that you are, 

If you are smart, you'll presently be crying, 
To get a little blue eyes and his ma, 
Sing hey, the merry babie like his pa. 

Sweet ladies, I have given timely warning, 
The darling little women that you aie, 

Some fine day you'll be married in the morning, 
Sing hey, the merry babie and his ma. 
Sing hey, the perfect image of his pa. 

Young gentlemen, the prospect is alarming, 
Sing hey, the gallant bipeds that you are, 
The Buttercups and Josephines are charming, 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 273 

Sing hey, the pretty maidens that you are. 
The Buttercups and Josephines are charming, 
Sing hey, the pretty maiden and her pa, 
Don't marry bo:h the maiden and her ma. 

Another piece of timely information 
i\.bout the merry babie and his ma, 

There hardly ever was in all creation, 
A babie not the image of its pa, 
Sing hey, the merry babie and its ma. 

CHORUS. 

The merry, merry babie, the dimpled little babie, 
The pretty blue-eyed infant and his ma, 

The merry, merry babie, a pinaforic babie, 
A duffer just the image of his pa. 



" CHRISTUS— FELICITATOR." 

Now through the blessed name of Christ 
My soul hath found a sweet release ; 

My spirit soars thro' clouds and mist, 
And floats in Love's divinest peace. 

Now thro' the precious cleansing blood 
My heart is free from sinful stain ; 

Washed in the purifying flood, 

I sing Redemption's hallowed strain. 

Now thro' my risen Master's love, 
Who intercedes above for me 

Before His Father's throne above, 
He pleads, and my glad soul is free. 

Now thro' my faith in Jesus' name ; 
Now thro' His loving power and grace, 



276 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

All stains of sin, all tears of shame 
Are wiped away, I see His face. 

Now thro' Christ's love constraining me, 

I tell to all His tender care ; 
And living, dying, still shall be 

A partner of His glory there. 

All hail, all hail, the rugged cross ; 

All hail, all hail, the thorny crown'; 
All hail, all hail, my worldly loss, 

At Jesus' feet my soul bows down. 

In sweet humility and aue 

I gaze adoring at my Lord. 
He is my joy, my love, my law ; 

In Him I find my great reward. 

Now thro' the glorious name of Christ 
My soul hath found a glad release; 

Triumphant soars thro' clouds and mist, 
And bathes in Love's all-conquering peace. 



TO BADIE MAY. 



Babie May's a rosebud :-,weet, 
Cherubs in her dimples meet, 
Tiny fairies kiss her feet — 
Darling little May. 

In her hazel orbs of light, 
Smiling seraphs clad in white, 
Shining with a glory bright — 
Star-eyed little May. 

In her cheeks so soft end fair 
Hose and lily blending rare, 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 277 

Curls of sunny silken hair — 
Crowning Babie May. 

" Papa, dear," says little May, 
And " Mama, dear," the live long day ; 
" Gj Danna's Mama " baby play — 
Danpa loves his May. 

Babie May in love and light 
Lives an angel pure and white, 
Full of innocent delight — 
Charming Babie May. 

How we love the little thing, 
Making weary hearts to sing; 
Babie May doth gladness bring — 
Blessed Baby May. 

Now God bless our darling May, 
Guide her safely all the way, 
Wheresoe'er her footsteps stray — 
Loving angels wait. 

Pretty dimpled cherub sweet, 
Little fairies in her feet, 
Cheeks where rose and lily meet — 
Precious Baby May. 



LITTLE BUTTERCUP 



She's called little Buttercup, 

Dear little Buttercup, 
Though I could never tell why — 

A buttercup's yellow, 

And any young fellow 
Would say she was colored too high. 
18 



278 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Her snuff and tobacky 

Are horrid, by cracky ; 
A rum- boat old woman who cries; 

Her ribbons and laces 

Are perfect disgraces 
For sailors' young sweethearts and wives 

Sour treacle, fly toffe, 

Herb tea, beans for coffe, 
Pup sausage, and bony old chops, 

Tough roosters, stale conies, 

Limburgher polonies, 
And musty old peppermint drops. 

Don't buy of old Buttercup, 

Yellow old Buttercup, 
Sailors who always are dry, 

A greasy old Buttercup, 

Fat little Buttercup, 
Unless you are ready to die. 



A maiden of the sea, 

Of darkie minstrelsee, 
A gal of gushing beauty 

For whom proud duffers sigh, 
And to each other cry — 

Boys, do your duty ; 

Yes, do your duty. 

Her masher lowly born, 
His shirt and trousers torn 

And patched beyond concealing, 
Hath dared for her to pine 
With love that's all divine, 

A duffer full of feeling, 

Yes, quite chuck full of feeling, 
Unlearned he is in aught, 
Cos why, he ne'er was taught, 

He never had a tooter. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 279 



0. pity, pity she, 

Fair maiden of the sea, 

In love with such a hooter ; 
O, what a pity he, 
Of darkie minstrelsee, 

He oughter had a tooter. 



A many years ago 

She must have been so charming, 
A dreadful thing you know, 

She took to baby farming. 
Now, really, 'tis alarming, 
If she was very charming, 
To follow baby farming, 

A many years ago. 

Two brats, oh, my ! she missed, 

One out of all condition, 
The other sucked a crust, 

A snob of blood patrician ; 
Oh, what a sweet position, 
One chick of no condition, 
T'other a blue patrician, 

So many years ago. 

Oh, bitter is her cup, 

How could she go and do it, 
She mixed those infants up — 

A put up job, she knew it. 
She came at last to rue it, 
All baby farmers do it, 
The neighbors never knew it, 

A many years ago. 

In time each pretty brat 

Grand bounced his naughty mother ; 
The pug-nosed babe was Ral oh, 



280 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

The Captain was the other. 
An agricultural mother 
Much older than her lover ; 
O, what a dreadful bother, 

H. M. S. Pinafore. 



THE MARCH OF COMPANY. C. 

Fraternally dedicated to the gallant Company C, 3d Massachu- 
setts volunteers, the first company that enlisted in the United 
States army for the late rebellion. 

Over the land sounds the trumpet of war, 

Calling the nation to arms, 
Thunders the tocsin of battle alarm, 

Come freemen, from workshops and farms. 

Your country's imperilled, your liberties save, 

The Union's in danger ! to arms ! 
Come forth to defend it, come forth in your might ; 

Bid adieu to sweet home and its charms. 

So thundered the tocsin, that fair April morn, 
When rebellion upreared her proud head, 

And the brave men of Cambridge from workshop and 
toil? 
Forward, March / were the words they said. 

Forward, March ! With Copp beating the quick time 
for their feet, 
Down Main street the boys swept along ; 
While the citizens cheered and their shouts rent the 
air, 
Huzza for our heroes, their song. 

Then a man left his labor, fell into the ranks, 
No time for a loving good-bye. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. - 28 1 

And another his overalls tore from his limbs, 
While the cheers of the boys cleft the sky. 

And a farmer from Lexington, carting his hay 

To a market in Boston town, 
Left the team with a boy, dashed into the line 

And gaily went marching down. 

The Captain — a lawyer, and a " Wide Awake," 

Was the proudest man that day, 
His dark eyes shone and his cheeks flushed high, 

As they gallantly marched away. 

Then down to the land of the sunny South, 

To the rescue of Fortress Monroe ; 
To the city of treason and rebels gray, 

In their march \ forward march, out they go. 

As they moved up the streets, with the banner of stars, 

Said an old colored man by the road : 
1 What State do you hail from ? You brave gallant 
boys,' 

Massachusetts ! Thank God, O thank God. 

Three months have flown by and the boys came home, 

Then the city its welcome gave ; 
And the bonnie blue flags floated out on the breeze, 

To gladden our heroes brave. 

The wives and little ones shouted and sang, 

And the joyful tears ran down ; 
All the old ' city fathers ' marched down to the bridge, 

And gave them the patriot's ciown. 

Soon away to the front where the battle raged, 
Marched the gallant Cambridge braves; 

And many a hero fell dead on the field, 
Or was lost on the crimson waves. 



282 Sprigs of acacia. 

They buried him there 'mid the cannon's roar, 
And the smoke of the battle grim ; 

With a hurried prayer, for a comrade true, 
Uplifted in faith to Him. 

And to-day the boys that were young and strong, 

Are passing, are passing away ; 
But the record of fame, in their native town, 

Their names shall preserve for aye. 

And their children shall honored and trusted live, 

As the scions of heroes brave ; 
W T ho left home and loved ones at liberty's call, 

Their Country's proud Union to save. 



DEDICATION POEM. 



OF THE FIRST FREE METHODIST CHURCH OF WASHING- 
TON, D. C. 

Only a ftw of His faithful followers, 

A little Christian band, 
Joined in a covenant sacred and holy, 

Clasping each other's hand. 

One, in the blessing of consecration, 

One, in the life divine, 
Seeking the Day-star of heavenly wisdom, 

Over their pathway to shine. 

Looking to Jesus, in faith, and believing 

The promise that he would fulfill, 
Walking in Love, in the light of His Gospel, 

Hearing His " Peace be still." 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 283 

Strong in the might of the Lord Jehovah, 

Reared they this temple of prayer, 
Faith its white corner-stone, Love its foundation, 

Altar of Holiness fair. 

Reared they, this home for the pilgrims weary, 

Home of the saints on earth, 
House of God's mercy, the prodigal's refuge, 

Ark of the soul's new birth. 

Here shall the joy of the Lord's revealing, 

Dawn oh the ransomed soul, 
With loud " Hallelujahs," glad shoutings of " Glory" 

Shall the Gospel chariot roll. 

Here shall the lambs of the fold be gathered, 

Precious are they in his sight, 
Of such are the flock of the tender Shepherd 

The ransomed, that walk in white. 

Here shall the Word with its saving power, 

Preacher and people sustain ; 
Manna from Heaven, in beauty celestial, 

Comfort mid sorrow and pain. 

A light in the darkness, all joy in believing, 

Fire of the Holy Ghost, 
Faith for the doubting — gladness for mourning, 

Rest for the tempest tost. 

Now Lord we consecrate with prayer 

And holy songs of praise, 
To Thee this house our hands have wrought, 

Thine own for coming days. 

Now let thy blessing Lord descend 

Upon thine altar here, 
And let our souls this hallowed hour, 

Feel thy sweet presence here. 



284 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Now let our hearts in union dear 

Be knit in ties of love 
And heaven's choicest blessings fall 

Upon us from above. 

So may we in God's city fair 

Be gathered one by one, 
With loud hosannas to the Lamb 

When earthly toils are done. 



"AH LEE. ! 



Ah Lee was a Methodist, simple and straight, 
Who led precious souls to the heavenly gate ; 

A Methodist preacher of the sect called Free, 
Whose trowsers wore out quite soon at the knee. 

He was raised in York State, this gentle Ah Lee, 
Tho' his name hath a twang of the heathen Chinee. 

Ah Lee was a sinner, he often confest, 

Till he found the salvation of pardon and rest. 

Salvation from satan, tobacco and wine; 
Salvation that filled him with power divine ; 

Salvation that washed his dark soul clean and white ; 
Salvation that filled his sad heart with delight ; 

Salvation in Jesus who loved him so dear ; 
Salvation that banished all doubting and fear. 

His song in the night, his comfort by day — 
Salvation the light shining clear on his way. 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 233 

Ah Lee had a tender and pure loving heart. 
Joined close to his Saviour's, oh never to part. 

When he sang of the joys that the ransomed know. 
A vision of angels made heaven below. 

While he plead with his Master, this loving Ah Lee. 
The soul of a sinner found pardon all free. 

I think when the angel God sends for his own 
Shall come in the glory that circleth the throne, 

He will fold to his bosom so tenderly 

The spotless white soul of the gentle Ah Lee. 

And Ah Lee, a sinner saved sweetly by grace, 
Shall live ever more in the light of His face. 



VICTORY. 



[To Post 57, Department of Massachusetts, G. A. R., East Cam- 
bridge, this poem is fraternally dedicated by their Comrade, the 
author, of Kit Carson Post, Washington, D. C. Read by Junior 
Vice-Commander William Gallagher, of Post 57, at the Annual 
Camp-Fire, January 1 1, 1882.] 



Long years have flown since on our ears 
The trumpet call for battle fell ; 

And now to-night with noble pride, 
Our loyal bosoms nobly swell. 

Rebellion reared her haughty head, 
And trampled neath her spurning feet 

The glorious banner of the stars, 

That brought our fathers freedom sweet. 



^86 SPPtIGS Of ACAClA. 

Rebellion sought the Union's life, 
Sought to destroy our country fair. 

Rivet the chains of slavery's night, 
And fill all hearts with pain and care. 

So to the trumpet call to war, 
Our hearts responded joyfully, 

And clad in heaven's unclouded blue, 
Went forth to fight for Liberty. 

To-night a remnant of that host 
Assemble by the camp-fire's light, 

Meet to recount the glorious past, 
Meet to recall each hard-won fight. 

Down in the Valley, with the boys, 
Of dashing brave Phil. Sheridan; 

Down in the far-off Southern land, 
Where'er the tide of battle ran. 

Along Potomac's verdant banks, 

With " Little Mac " and gallant Grant, 

On the blue sea with Farragut, 

At New Orleans, their banners plant. 

Upon the sea and on the land, 

Along the mountain's rugged side, 

Within the valley's leafy shade, 

The conflict deepened far and wide. 

Our gallant Colonel Davis brave, 

At Petersburg a martyr fell, 
He died a hero in the fight, 

Killed by the bursting of a shell. 

At White Oak Swamp and Wilderness, 
At North Anna and Laurel Hill, 

He led his faithful soldiers true ; 
His memory green, we cherish still. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 287 

Oar Past Commanders, now we trace, 
Throughout the struggle for the right ; 

Some buried lie beneath the plain, 
And some are with us here to-night. 

Ouj" Comrade Leigh ton's gone before 
His brothers to the Soldier's Rest; 

AfLer the cannon's deafening roar, 
He sleeps with honors on his breast. 

Commander R. L. Sawin next, 

S'ands high upon the roll of fame, 
At Winchester and Fisher's Hill, 

His battery won a noble name. 

Commander T. I. Quinn comes next, 

Who in Potomac's army fought, 
His record's full of gallant deeds, 

A soldier of the bravest sort. 

Commander G. H. Howard's name, 

Comes next in order on the roll ; 
At Fair Oaks, Giendale, Malvern Hill, 

At Gettysburg, so reads fame's scroll. 

The gallant 16th fought and bled, 

At Chancellorsvillo and Locust Grove, 

At Chantilly and Fredericksburg, 
His regiment the rebels drove. 

B. J. McCormick's record stands 
Among the boys all brave and true, 

And where the 16th led the fray, 
He was among the foremost too. 

Commander O. S. Brown comes next ; 

Of all the Captains of our Post, 
His memory's cherished, ever dear, 

A faithful friend, his comrades boast. 



288 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

Commander J. A. Brogan true, 

Fought in the Gulf Department there, 

At New Orleans and Baton Rouge, 
And Vicksburg, won his laurels fair. 

Commander C. O. Welch stands high, 
A soldier brave, a comrade true, 

He stood the battle test, and wore 

Through many a fight the bonny blue. 

Commander C. A. Austin, won 
A soldier's great undying name, 

At Bayou Teche, Port Hudson too, 
And shared in Shenandoah's fame. 

The 38th, said General Banks, 
" A model is for pluck and drill ; 

To all the Gulf Department boys," 
They keep their noble record still. 

There's Past Commander A. M. Lunt, 
One of the braves of Opequan, 

The Color Sargeant of the line, 
A noble, true, heroic man. 

Amid the furious flames of death, 

Foremost, he urged his dauntless way, 

He bore his colors onward still, 
Into the thickest of the fray. 

Last but not least upon the roll, 

The brave Commander of this Post, 

Stands Major Jonas F. Capelle, 

One of the stars in Freedom's host. 

Up from the ranks he fought his way, 
And at Peach Orchard and Glendale, 

As Color Sargeant won a name, 
And glory that shall never fail. 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 289 

At Glendale, Colonel Wyman fell ; 

" The 1 6th saved the army there," 
Were brave Joe Hooker's generous words, 

" I trust them always, anywhere." 

At Fair Oaks, Glendale, Malvern Hill, 

At Chantilly and Kettle Run, 
At Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, 

At Gettysburg, they honors won. 

At Locust Grove and Wilderness, 
At North Anna and oM Mine Run, 

At Spotsylvannia, Petersburg, 

At Coal Harbor, their work was done. 

Now to the memory of the braves, 

Who've passed beyond our mortal sight, 

Since last cur Camp fire's ruddy glow, 
Shed all around its radiance bright. 

Five of our number, brave and true, 
Myers and Miller, Drummer Boyle, 

Austin, and Sergeant Mclntyre, 

Have left the scenes of earthly toil. 

Before the great Camp Fire above, 

They re-united live again, 
They clasp their comrades open hand, 

Set free from every earthly pain. 

They've joined the great Grand Army there 7 
All the brave souls of Freedom's band, 

Who fought to save their Country's flag, 
Who died to save their native land. 

Our Chief Commander Garfield, too 
Has joined the gallant boys in blue, 

A martyr to the cause of right, 
A noble soldier, tried and true. 



290 SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 

HOME. 

Sitting by my fireside, 
Bable on my knee, 

Cunning little Saidee, 
Busy as a bee. 

Wifie getting supper, 
Table snowy white, 

Purest china gleaming, 
Golden biscuits light. 

Fragrant tea-urn steaming, 
Crystal quinces rare, 

Rosy firelight gleaming 
On the picture fair. 

Dainty fingers folded, 

Drooped the golden head. 

Asking for the blessing 
On our daily bread. 

Smiling seraphs hover, 
Air is full of wings. 

Love — dear love abiding, 
This the song he sings : 






" Love ye one anotl er, 
Children of the King, 

With the strain immortal, 
Heavenly arches ring." 

" In thy home eternal, 

Only love abides, 
Quaff the joys supernal, 

From Life's crystal tides, 






SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 291 

THE HAPPY NEW YEAR. 

The Old Year has gone — 

Its sorrows and tears, 
Its burdens of care, 

Its joy and its fears. 

The New Year has come, 

With robings of white, 
Her star eyes of hope, 

A song of delight. 

Singing so tenderly 

Psalms of sweet peace — 
Of gladness and mercy 

From pain a release. 

O, joy of her coming — 

The comfort and rest ; 
The blessings unnumbered — 

She folds to her breast. 

We hail thee, pure vestal ! 

Oar virginal queen ; 
In garments unspotted 
Of glittering sheen. 

We welcome thy coming 

With joy and delight ; 
Fair bride of the morning, 

That walketh in white. 



Because on thy bosom, 
Unstained as the snow, 

Thou bearest a message 
To mortals below. 



292 



SPRIGS OF ACACIA. 



The Fathers' rich blessings 
Of mercy and love, 

Upon us descending 
With peace from above. 



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